


I Alone

by thestarsarefalling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Depression, Language, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Panic Attacks, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Sexual Content, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsarefalling/pseuds/thestarsarefalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Whatever you are thinking of doing, don't. There is another way. You don't need to go with him. You don't need to die!</i> </p><p> <i>Funny you say that. Truth is, when I left, I thought the only way out was my death. Well, I was wrong, Sam. <b>It's yours.</b></i></p><p>After striking a deal with Death, Dean is left broken-hearted and alone. In the absence of a cure to save the world from himself and The Mark of Cain, Dean is transported to a planet in a galaxy far, far away. It could have been awesome if not for the fact that his mind was crumbling and the loneliness was eating him alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time participating in the SPN Reverse Bang challenge and I have many people to thank. First off, to the incredible artist that I was grateful to work with, [Siv/Aceriee](http://missaceriee.tumblr.com/), who created such beautiful pieces of art which you can find in its full viewing [ here](http://aceriee.livejournal.com/953.html) and [ here](http://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art). To my Betas, [ anmechokola](http://anmechokola.tumblr.com/), [cocklesftw](http://cocklesftw.tumblr.com/), and [ pikachicksworld](http://pikachicksworld.tumblr.com/) who saw and fixed the mistakes I couldn't see while also making the story better. Finally, this story was influenced by The Martian, Interstellar, Doctor Who, and the book "The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat," and you'll find those references dotting the story here and there. Hope you enjoy it!

 

If there ever comes a time  
When all the world has lost its colors  
And the darkness envelops me into a lifeless prison,

 

Hold my hand,  
Light that one small light  
And let it flicker into the void.

 

 You.

 

 The tiny flickering light in my dark world.

 

-[rochelleannejoy](http://rochelleannejoy.tumblr.com/)

 

 

 

**Sol 389**

_Whatever you are thinking of doing, don't. There is another way. You don't need to go with him. You don't need to die!_

_Funny you say that. Truth is, when I left, I thought the only way out was my death. Well, I was wrong, Sam. It's yours._

That conversation played in his mind when the days seemed extra long. He didn’t intend to think of his brother’s last moments, but when there was no one else to talk to his mind wandered into dangerous territory. He thought about Sam’s last words and his final nod of resignation with what was going to happen. Thinking about it always ended the same way for Dean – with a hollow feeling left in his heart and the dreadful need to pull out those two pictures stuck in his pocket. Instead, he looked up at the stars again and mapped out his constellations.

There was the one in the upper right hand corner, Family, with three stars named after Sam, his mom, and his dad. There was the one in the middle of the skies and that was his personal north star. There was the one just slightly below the North Star, glowing a bright blue, and he named it the Castilleon after a particular angel that once saved him from the depths of Hell. He didn’t care for the other stars in the unfamiliar sky.

The giant orange and red planet with its rings loomed far from this one and he wondered if there was any life over there or if Death marooned someone over there. He always wondered if it had a name, but then again, the one he was on remained nameless even though he had all the freedom to give it one. He wondered if this planet’s moons were the same as the one back on Earth but thinking about Earth just brought him back to memories he shouldn’t be thinking of. Instead, he thought about reality - he was a man stuck in unfamiliar territory no longer struggling with the choice of stranding himself on a planet far, far away in order to save others.

Dean placed his hands on the alien grass and pushed himself off his spot. He took in a deep breath and began making his way back. Dean remembered first finding this spot, this crumbling cliff side where the view was extraordinary. There were the beautifully clear skies, and a view of the foliage from all around. He heard it first before he saw it as he was following the sound of a waterfall – he needed a working bath after all. When he walked into the clearing, the sun shone brightly into the deep and terrifying chasm. The waterfall was a little farther than he expected with the drop echoing the sound of the falling water. Nearly walking off the edge, he ironically laughed at the thought of transforming once again into a demon on the first week being on the alien planet.

Dean followed his trail, listening to the crunch of his boots on the supposed soil, and felt the Earth-like foliage brush against his body. A tiny hamster-like creature decided to run past him but it happened so often that it didn’t bother him anymore.

Eventually, Dean saw the unconventional log cabin that was built by Death. It was unlike any cabin he’d been in, but perhaps that was the best – he didn’t want to be reminded of any house he’d stepped in on Earth. Everything inside the cabin was a courtesy extended by Death. The day Dean was dropped off on the planet he had a million worries, but the most prominent one was how he would have to start from scratch. He was stressing himself out about where he would get clean water, food, and somewhere to sleep – this wasn’t purgatory and he knew this wasn’t some temporary arrangement.

Death, thankfully, understood his concerns. “I’ll bring you some things to help you get settled.”

Those things just happened to be a home with furnishings, but sadly it didn’t come with any booze, bacon, or electricity. With one concern crossed out he still had two more but came to the realization that all his food and water would be found around him in the unfamiliar territory.

Dean seemed to accept his supposed incarceration with a certain relief – the sense of punishment was perhaps welcome, and there was, he doubtless felt, security in isolation. He wasn’t fit for life back on Earth and he knew that.

After lighting the fireplace, Dean sat down on his couch and watched the flames. All the creature comforts back on Earth were sorely missed, but those were just seemingly fleeting memories. Death told Dean that he shouldn’t try and forget his past, but how it should be preserved, for without them he’d feel hollow and ungrounded. For Dean, his memories toyed with his emotions, leading to the inevitable feeling of misery for never seeing the ones he loved ever again. He preferred the superficial memories – the taste of beer, TV shows, and even using electricity.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and mentally calculated when Death would next visit. His “check-ups” on Dean were interestingly the one thing that Dean looked forward to, even if the companionship was a little morbid and brief. Ten days till that meeting. Ten days to Death asking how Dean was and if he needed anything from Earth. Ten days till Dean responding with “fine and dandy” and “seeds, maybe” or “no.” Ten days till Death leaves as quickly as he comes.

He mentally calculated another number in his head, and this one a little more important than the rest.

“13.”

Thirteen months of solitude. Thirteen months since he murdered his brother. Thirteen months - 389 solar days - since he said goodbye to his home, to his planet, and to everyone on it.

**Sol 392**

Free time is laughable in Dean’s book. Every single moment of his life was spent having free time. He knew he needed a hobby, and somehow, he found gardening. He had no idea where to start, and just plucked plants out of their spots and honed them in together on a spot of land behind his cabin, or he would take the seeds given to him and plant them, hoping for the best. Luckily for him the weather was always temperate with very little fluctuation all year round and very few bad storms. It was, in all sense and purposes, nearly identical to Earth, which made gardening a very easy hobby and very bountiful. So Dean took over the ragged, untended grounds and created his own alien flower and vegetable garden.

The first time he went out there, digging into the soil, he immediately thought of Cain and his beehives. If Cain managed to achieve some sort of equilibrium and calm with bee collecting, even with the tempestuous mark on his arm, then so could Dean.

When Dean had a spare moment, he’d wander out into the quiet and undemanding garden that surrounded his home, and there in that quietness, he recovered his own peace. The Mark’s poison would subside for just a moment amongst the presence of his plants. He would never admit it to anyone but this deep, wordless relationship with nature restored his sense of purpose in the world, and he felt real and untainted by the Mark on his arm.

But Dean was still human and all the aches and pains associated with gardening still affected him. Besides, he couldn’t survive on just veggies alone. He was a hunter at heart and there were animals on this planet to kill.

The first time Dean ate an animal off of this planet he was understandably nervous. His first taste was an experience in itself and he couldn’t quite place the flavour. With time his palette eventually got used to the slightly “off” tastes. He couldn’t remember what Earth meat tasted like.

When Dean hunts, he takes certain weapons with him – a spear for large land animals, and a bow and arrow fashioned for those smaller or flying. He has a dagger for personal protection, but he never really needed to use it since there’s nothing on the planet that he had to protect himself from. The animals seemed to sense the Mark which meant he would be left to his own devices.

Taking a deep breath Dean readied himself with a spear hoping to catch something large. In the thickest part of the forest his mind cleared itself of all distractions and focused on the deer-like animal grazing with its pack. The one Dean focused on was the easiest to get to, and strategically he could take it down with a spear, but he didn’t want to take his chances. He wanted speed, not power. Slowly and quietly trading his spear for his bow and arrow Dean drew back the string and took aim at the grey and blue animal. He took two breaths and released, but a sharp crunch of branches echoed just as the arrow began its flight, causing the pack to immediately disperse. Dean heard footsteps behind him and rolled his eyes.

“Damn it,” Dean sighed and shook his head, going over to retrieve his arrow. “Death, you’re early.”

“It’s me.”

Dean immediately whipped his head backward at the familiar, yet oh, so missed, voice.

“Cas.” It was as if the air was sucked out of his lungs once his eyes connected with the bright blue stars staring back at him.

“Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, counting to ten, before opening them. Dean let out the breath he was apparently holding, still unsure if his brain, or the Mark, was tricking him. Surely it had to be either – Castiel couldn’t be here.

“Dean, I…” Castiel began to walk towards him, and Dean could feel himself walking away.

“This isn’t real.” he turned away from Castiel, speaking to himself.

But Castiel caught up, clutching Dean’s shoulder, grounding him, and forcing him to see what was truly happening. When he turned him around, Dean felt a sort of trembling, eager emotion, and a strange nostalgia of a lost world half forgotten and half recalled. Dean looked at Castiel for the first time in thirteen months and realized he’d nearly forgotten what he looked like. He almost forgot about the stupid trench coat and the bedhead hair. He had buried the memory so far down to protect his sanity that he almost forgot what Castiel looked like. All he remembered was the blue.

“Castiel,” Dean breathed out and slowly reached out for his face.

The feeling of Castiel’s cheek was electrifying and it caused Dean to begin to cry. His tears were uncontrollable now that Castiel was really standing in front of him, and he was embarrassed to look at the angel. Castiel responded in kind, embracing Dean in a hug. Eventually some sort of calmness returned to Dean and he let go of Castiel.

“You’re you,” Castiel breathed. “You’re not a demon.”

“Yeah, I’m me. Not a Deanmon.” Dean wiped his face on his sleeve, defecting to humour as a defense mechanism, and still avoiding Castiel’s eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Castiel responded warmly, his body still close to Dean’s. “I’ve come to take you home.”

Whatever emotion Dean was showing – happiness, relief, surprise – now dropped. “You can’t take me home.”

“I don’t understand. I was under the impression that you were trapped here.” Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head – something Dean sorely missed seeing.

“I’m not trapped,” Dean clarified. “I chose this.”

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but closed it.

“I guess I should explain.”

**Sol 392**

Dean led Castiel to his cabin and, though Dean kept his eyes on the path, he could feel Castiel’s gaze taking in the surroundings before returning to staring at him. When they got to his house, Castiel was considerably confused with how he had these particular lodgings, but Dean shrugged and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.”

Between entering the cabin and grabbing a log it got unnervingly quiet and Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel had left or if it was a trick his brain was playing. Looking back quickly, his fears subsided when he watched Castiel examine the room, his eyes roaming every inch of the cabin. Dean liked to think that Castiel was calculating the structural integrity of his home, perhaps giving a seal of approval, but it wasn’t him to really guess at what the angel was thinking – who knows, maybe Castiel was thinking that he’d seen better.

“Cas, how’d you find me?” Dean asked while placing a log in the fireplace to keep the fire from dying out.

“You still long for me,” Castiel spoke, standing at the doorway. “I can still feel it.”

“I don’t long for you,” Dean scoffed – he really believed he didn’t; otherwise, he’d constantly be reminded of a painful decision.

“Whether or not you choose to admit it doesn’t matter. It’s fact. Admittedly, I’m glad you do, it was very difficult to find you. This universe is vast and infinite.” Castiel walked towards the couch but didn’t sit down, giving a reasonable distance between them.

“That was the point. I didn’t want to be found. I want to save humanity from myself. That’s why I’m on this goddamn rock.”

“How did you get here?” Castiel wondered.

“You must know.” It was Dean’s turn to be suspicious.

“I want to hear it from you.”

“I made a deal with Death. I persuaded him that this was the best course for me. Sam’s life for this.” Dean motioned to the cabin. “My isolation for everyone’s safety.”

“I thought, I … I always assumed Death did this to you because you had no choice.” Castiel shook his head.

“I don’t know where you got your information from, but that’s definitely not what happened.” Dean shrugged, turning his back to Castiel.

There was a period where neither of them spoke, and Dean used that chance to get a drink of water. He was very much aware of the fact that Castiel was watching his every move, yet the only sound that encompassed the entire cabin was the sound of the fire crackling. Eventually, Castiel spoke again, but somehow made his way into Dean’s space without him hearing. Truth be told, that was something that Dean forgot about the angel and wasn’t quite sure if he welcomed that trait of his or not. Being away from his presence for so long felt almost suffocating, but he felt a strange pull towards it.

“Dean, did you ever care to think about how I felt about this?” Castiel gingerly placed his hand on Dean’s left shoulder.

_The pure mark. The only mark that matters._

Dean’s will faded and he let Castiel turn him around.

“We were working on a cure,” Castiel began, but Dean immediately interrupted.

“And how did that turn out?” Dean responded sarcastically, placing the cup down forcefully on the counter.

Castiel swallowed, deliberating between backing down or standing his ground. “Not … well. Rowena tricked us. The spell she was actually concocting was a powerful demon-killing spell. Crowley’s dead.”

“Bastard probably had it coming,” Dean scoffed again. “See? Trust no witch.”

“But we were trying, and you should have let me help you.” Castiel’s resolve grew in his eyes.

“I don’t need your pity, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes hardened. “I do not feel pity. I feel anger.”

“Anger?”

“I had to find out from Angel Radio that your brother was killed at your hand. Then I learn from a reaper that Death sent you here? Now I learn that this was your idea? Of course I’m angry.” Castiel crowded Dean. “You left without so much as a goodbye. If I had known you’d be this stupid…”

“Do you think I wanted this?” Dean looked at Castiel accusingly. “I was fine, Cas. I was coping with the Mark. It was you two who couldn’t let it be and kept going behind my back. Yeah, okay, I could feel this darkness eating away, but I had you two as my reason to fight it.”

Castiel shrunk back, embarrassed that their meddling and lying had caused this.

“And you know, maybe it is for the best that you two went behind my back. Without you two butting in I would have never summoned Death and I would have never come here. But look at me now! I’m here by myself with no one to harm. That’s what I am – alone. I don’t need anyone.”

Dean immediately regretted saying that for his angel disappeared from his sights in a blink of an eye.

**Sol 399**

That night was not peaceful for Dean. Seeing Castiel awakened repressed memories and emotions he spent thirteen months bottling up. The returning, the re-dawning of memory was not welcome – it was plagued by dreadful anxiety and turmoil in which the half-conscious Dean seemed to be violently struggling against his past. As consciousness grew clearer a now terrible memory came with it. The murder, the deed, almost lost to time before now stood before him in vivid, almost hallucinatory detail. Uncontrollable reminiscence welled up and overwhelmed him – he kept “seeing” the murder, enacting it, again and again.

Dean woke up that night to terror and confusion. Half awake and hallucinating, he saw his brother’s body on the floor and he screamed – he screamed for a past that no longer existed. His brother morphed into Castiel, his body beaten and bruised lying on the bunker floor, but this time devoid of all life. Tears flooded his vision and stopped him from seeing the worst. He was completely wrung with emotion – it was heartbreaking to think that his life was lost in this limbo, for he was a man without roots, defined only by the remote past. He believed everything was his fault.

Regret was a terrible feeling to be enveloped in, and he never felt it more than he did that night. That feeling of regret transcended the next few days and loneliness took hold. In thirteen months, he never realized how properly alone he was. For a little while, Dean did nothing, lying passively in his bed and barely eating, wondering about his inevitable future on his planet. How could he spend the rest of his immortal life here? How could he have pushed away his last friend, not knowing if he would ever come back?

When he did move, it wasn’t because he had snapped out of his depressive thoughts, but because the will to survive was stronger and the Mark was telling him to _kill, kill, kill,_ but Dean fought that urge to slaughter the next available animal. He didn’t want to succumb to the darkness on his arm, the one he was holding back, but he felt lifeless not doing so. What cruelty and what irony that his life lay dormant and dull unless he released and awakened the disease in order to fulfill the urge to kill.

Then, Death came a-knocking.

“You’re having a bad day,” Death simply stated. “You’re allowed to have those. It makes you, _reminds_ _you_ , that you’re human.”

Dean just rolled his eyes as he lay in bed. He was tempted to tell Death that Castiel visited, but decided otherwise.

“How do you feel?” Death asked.

“I don’t know.” Dean forced himself to look at Death.

“Are you miserable?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shook his head, legitimately unsure. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Do you feel alive?”

Dean thought about it for a moment, his face wearing a look of infinite sadness and resignation. “No, I don’t. I haven’t felt alive for a long time.”

This tragic loss in himself, loss _of_ himself was accepted with an odd unconcern, but there was still an overwhelming sense of “something missing” that he couldn’t pinpoint.

“I’ll return soon. Is there anything you need from me?” Death took a few packages of seeds out from his coat pocket and gently laid them down on the kitchen table.

“No,” Dean mumbled into his pillow.

The next time Dean looked up Death was gone. The next time Dean closed his eyes he fell asleep again.

**The Last Day**

_“Dean.” Death tried to get Dean’s attention, but all Dean could see was his brother’s body on the ground of that dive. “Dean.”_

_Dean dropped the scythe to the floor and immediately fell to his knees clutching Sam in his arms, whispering apologies over and over. The stone cold façade he put up fell from his face._

_“He’s at rest now,” Death firmly spoke. “We must send you off.”_

_Dean took a few more painful breaths. “At least let me give him a hunter’s funeral.”_

_“As you wish.” Death nodded curtly. “Is there anything you must do before you leave? Anything else you’d like to bring with you?”_

_Dean picked up the two pictures Sam placed on the floor by Dean’s feet and put it in his pocket without taking a second glance at them. “No.”_

_A little while later Dean lit the fire that would engulf Sam’s body. He watched it, emotionless, as the flames that once nearly consumed Sam when he was a baby became his destiny now. He was debating saying goodbye to Cas, maybe telling him how he really felt, but Dean knew if they spoke, it would only end badly. Instead, he said one last good bye to his Impala, placing the keys in the glove compartment and nodded to Death, signalling his readiness to leave Earth._

**Sol 402**

Dean woke up feeling tired, disoriented, and unsure of what day it was. What he was certain of was the sensation of hunger. He hadn’t properly eaten in days, nor had he properly watered his plants in days. That thought had him jumping out of bed and racing to the garden with a watering can in tow. Feeling the soil he realized it was slightly damp. Confused, he wondered if it rained when he was sleeping.

“I watered them for you.”

Dean looked around and saw Castiel standing a few yards away.

“I apologize for leaving abruptly.” Castiel looked down, seemingly ashamed. “That wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

“Well, you did it,” Dean deadpanned after the shock that Castiel came back subsided. “Whatever.”

“I never intended… I didn’t come here to fight or argue with you,” Castiel tried to explain.

“Then why are you here?” he asked, feeling the Mark start to stir.

“Because I am your friend,” Castiel stated plainly. “Because, despite your lack of faith in me, I do miss you, and I wanted to tell you that I forgive you and that I’m sorry.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his heart began to race, and the itch from his Mark faded. “You…”

“We’ve been through much together, you and I, and I regret not finding you sooner after the bunker. I should have realized you would be stubborn, maybe feeling guilty for what happened.” Castiel looked away for a second. “Sometimes I think that maybe if I had found you instead of making that deal with Rowena, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Cas, I… You gotta know.” Dean’s brain and mouth couldn’t coordinate to form a coherent sentence. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine.”

“You can’t take all the blame.” Castiel shook his head.

“And you can’t think you have any share in this. This is all me.” Dean motioned to everything around him. “The Mark, all of it.”

“No, we pushed you. You were right.”

Dean shook his head and huffed, taking the can with him back into the cabin.

“Are we really going to argue over this?” he turned, seeing Castiel stand hesitantly by the doorway once more. “It happened.”

Dean watched him carefully and asked a curious question, “What do you want from me? Is there something you’re waiting for?”

“Why haven’t you asked to return to Earth? To go home?” Castiel tilted his head in the adorable way that Dean didn’t realize he missed.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. “This is my home now. Believe it or not, this is where I belong.”

“You belong on Earth, saving people and hunting things.” Castiel walked into the cabin.

“Not anymore.” He shook his head. “When I’m near monsters, or hell, even people, I can only have so much control. It’s safer for everyone if I stay here.”

“So you’ll stay here forever?” Castiel eyed the Mark. “That’ll keep you alive. You do realize that?”

“Yes.” Dean confirmed what he always knew, and he could feel the Mark flare up again. “And yes.”

“No.” he turned around and walked away from Dean. “I can’t accept this.”

“Then don’t. Your opinion on it doesn’t matter.”

“My opinion doesn’t… So I don’t matter to you?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Dean sighed. “You matter. Of course you matter. It’s just… I’m not going to change my mind anytime soon. Not while I have this on my arm.”

Castiel’s expression immediately calmed and became hyper-focused when Dean pushed up his ratty sleeve to show the Mark, and Dean thought that there was no way that he accepted that reason so easily.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean snapped his fingers and then realized that Castiel was tuning into Angel Radio.

“I must leave. Something’s happened on Earth.” Castiel’s gaze returned to him. “I’ll return soon.”

Castiel flew off leaving Dean standing in his empty cabin, but with some vague assurance that the angel would come back.

**Sol 407**

“Well, that was fast.” Dean laid on his back at the edge of the cliff staring at the night sky, but instantly recognized the sound of wings. “That was, what, five days? You solved whatever crisis on Earth in five days?”

Castiel sat down beside him. “What do you mean?”

“You said something happened on Earth.” Dean shrugged, placing both hands over his stomach and lacing his fingers together. “The way you left made it sound like it was big.”

“Yes, but we didn’t fix it in five days.” Castiel squinted his eyes. “Dean, what do you know about this planet? This solar system you’re in?”

“Um, not much.” Dean continued to look out at the view ahead of him. “Death didn’t really explain what was going on when he dropped me off and most of it I found out just by living here. I don’t know any names of anything, and I named the stars and some plants after people I know. That was it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Death was kind. He chose a place that was like Earth. Oxygen, water, plants.”

“Kind? This is not kind,” his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Merciful, then.” Dean laced his fingers and placed them over his stomach, breathing deeply and shifting to get a little more comfortable.

“Not sure how merciful it is, placing you near a black hole.” Castiel looked up into the night sky.

“What?” Dean sat up and looked at him with confusion in his eyes. “What black hole?”

“That one, right there.” Castiel pointed to the planet with rings.

“That’s not a black hole. That’s just… Another planet. With rings?” Dean questioned himself. “Right?”

“Dean, those aren’t rings. It’s the light being warped by the immense gravity. It most certainly is a black hole, but you shouldn’t be alarmed. This planet isn’t completely affected by the gravitational pull. You are slightly affected by the time distortion, however,” Castiel added in.

“Time distortion?” this conversation was starting to give him a headache.

“The black hole, it plays with time. Every month here is 3 years passed on Earth,” Castiel looked at Dean this time. “That is 39 years back on Earth.”

“39 years. I should be 79.” The realization dawned on Dean. “I’m a senior citizen!”

“It means that while you think I’ve been gone for five days, I’ve actually been away for nearly 6 months,” Castiel clarified.

“6 months,” Dean breathed, but then realized something more important. “Cas, wait, you spent 39 years looking for me?”

“I suppose so, I haven’t kept track. You lose sense of time when you have one undeniable focus.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. After 39 years he was sure anyone would give up on him.

“I knew you were alive. I could feel it. I just didn’t know where to look.” Castiel looked down at his hands. “I scoured the Earth for you first and then quickly realized my mistake.”

“You never gave up?” Dean knew the answer but asked anyway.

“How could I?” Castiel looked him in the eye, his answer as earnest as ever.

How Dean wished to bring his hand up to cup Castiel’s cheek, to gently pull him closer, to lessen the distance between them. Instead he said, “What was the crisis?”

“Rowena.” Castiel broke their connection and looked down at the chasm. “With the Book and the codex, she’s built a ‘mega-coven’, attracting newcomers and those in hiding alike.”

“’Mega-coven’? Really?” Dean thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

“Anyway, the remnants of the Grand Coven called war upon Rowena,” Castiel explained. “There were casualties on both sides, but we needed to keep humanity out of it as much as possible. It was a trying task.”

“And Rowena?”

“She escaped.” Castiel shook his head.

“And what about the demons?”

“They weren’t involved, thankfully.” Castiel’s shoulders sagged.

“No, but what happened after Crowley died?”

“I’m not completely certain, but I think that his court fought amongst each other to figure out who would lead. Whoever is in charge picked up where Crowley left off, so right now, demons aren’t a problem.” Castiel shrugged. “Some of them are doing their job, and some of them are wandering Earth doing nothing.”

“Doing nothing?”

“Almost nothing. They wreak havoc, of course, but there are a percentage of them that are no longer corrupt. They’re just there existing on Earth.”

“How can they no longer be corrupt?”

“No leader, no goal, no sense of purpose. Time helps, too.” Castiel stood up. “I’m making it sound like most of them converted. It’s really just a small percentile.”

“Where are you going?” Dean looked back at him.

“Your cabin.” Castiel walked without stopping.

He got to his feet and hurriedly followed the angel. “Why?”

“To take stock.” Castiel slowed his pace.

“Of my stuff?” Dean was confused. “Why?”

“You need supplies.”

He scoffed, “I’m fine, Cas.”

Castiel stopped and tried to think of a better way to get Dean to accept his help. “Dean, just think of this as gifts. 39 years worth of Christmas’ and birthday gifts and other human holidays that you’ve missed. I promise I won’t bring much. If you insist on staying here forever, you’ll need more than just one shirt and a pair of jeans.”

“Hey! I have two shirts.” Dean realized he couldn’t really argue with the forever part, and grumbled out his answer. “Fine.”

He watched Castiel flutter around his cabin, opening and closing cabinets and drawers, creating a mental inventory of things to stock.

“Do they still have plaid shirts?” Dean tried to fill the silence.

“Of course. Did you really think they would go out of fashion?” Castiel opened another cabinet and gently rifled through it.

“You never know.” Dean shrugged.

Castiel closed the cabinet door and faced Dean. “I think I’ve created a sizable list. I should probably get started.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. It’ll take me a few days to get the necessary supplies. So I hope you don’t mind.”

“N-no, of course not, yeah,” Dean stuttered.

“Alright.” Castiel nodded once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“See you soon.”

Castiel returned to Earth the way he always did, with a hollow feeling, having left the Righteous Man behind – again. Why Dean didn’t want to return to Earth, he partially understood, but maybe, just maybe, they could find a cure together. Maybe he could convince him to come home.

 _“Castiel,”_ Hannah called out to him on Angel Radio. “ _There’s a situation on the northern west coast. Are you able to attend? It’s Rowena. She summoned you.”_

“ _Why?”_ Castiel responded.

“ _We don’t know. Should I send some of our brothers and sisters with you?”_

_“Not a good idea. I’ll be fine.”_

Dean’s list would have to wait.

**Sol 410**

The only point to keeping track of the days was for the sake of Dean’s sanity. Not knowing how many days passed made Dean delusional and paranoid. There were moments he was convinced that deserting Earth and being sent here never really happened, that he was still on Earth, the Mark poisoning his sense of reality. Counting the days meant knowing that the planet was moving, his plants were growing, and that it was all real. Counting the days meant knowing that there was a point to living, to surviving, even if the only end goal is to never become the thing he used to hunt.

The miracle is that, for the most part, he succeeds – the powers of survival, the will to survive, and to survive as him was absolutely the strongest, stronger than any impulse, and stronger than the Mark itself. Now, he had another reason to count how many days he’d managed to fight that urge, why he wanted to stay human. It was for Cas.

**Sol 465**

“You came back,” were the only words that came out of Dean’s mouth.

 _58 days,_ Dean wanted to yell, but it was a miracle that Castiel came back.

“I said I would.” Castiel was carrying a box, and gently placed it on the kitchen table.

Silence.

“How long have I been gone, Dean?”

“Two months, I think.” Dean tried to pass it off coolly.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel bowed his head. “When I returned, it was a few weeks into the future. Things just kept happening. It’s the time dilation. Every time I’m here, Earth jumps forward and I can’t keep up. It doesn’t help that, being an angel, time has no particular influence on me.”

“Cas.” He placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“I brought you some stuff.” Castiel directed his attention to the box, knowing fully that it wasn’t fine.

Dean had forgotten. He spent so much time rebuking Death’s offers and supporting himself that he had forgotten Castiel was going to _bring him stuff._ Dean lightly brushed his fingers over the box before carefully opening it. The first thing Dean pulled out was soft and screamed “familiar”. It was a plaid shirt, but feeling it more closely, he realized it was _his_ plaid shirt, once left neglected in the Bunker, but brought back to him. There were a few more pieces of clothes – his clothes.

“You went back to the Bunker?” Dean asked.

Castiel was watching him carefully as he opened the box. “Yes. I visit sometimes.”

“How is it?” Dean braved that question.

“Maintained well. Claire uses it as her home. She’s a fully-fledged hunter. She’s accompanied by other familiar faces.” Some semblance of a smile creeps up on Castiel’s face.

Dean smirked. He was glad to hear that Claire was still alive, forging her own path as a Women of Letters. Past the clothes, Dean found a few more items. Oil for cooking, various herbs and spices, a few Vonnegut books, toilet paper, a giant thing of water, a First-Aid kit, toothpaste, a toothbrush, floss, flour, sugar, and coffee.

“Wow, this is...” Dean looked at it all, realizing how long he’d gone without so many things. “This is… Good. Real good.”

“It’s not enough.” Castiel tilted his head.

“It’s plenty enough.” Dean looked at him. “Just realizing that I am really running out of things.”

“How did you even fare the past year?” Castiel wondered.

He knew that Death couldn’t leave him be. Whenever Dean turned his back, he’d find that there would be new stock of some items. Dean scoffed. Death didn’t want him to go barbaric if he ever ran out of supplies – Death didn’t want him to become the monster he already was, but rather, a comfortable inmate in this metaphorical prison.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean put on a smile. “This is great, I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing.” Castiel nodded.

Dean started putting things away, but the silence in the cabin was suffocating. Against his better judgement – he knew that once he asked, he’d be thirsty for more – he asked about Earth. Castiel caught his hesitation, and thought that talking about Hell would lessen the pain of not being on Earth.

“Still fine, things are settling a bit, but there seems to be a new ruler of Hell.” Castiel sat down on one of the chairs. “They seem very intent on increasing the amount of souls in Hell.”

“And you’re not stopping it?”

“Honestly? We can’t.” Castiel shook his head. “It is the human’s choice, their free will, that is preventing us from interfering. They chose that path.”

He understood where Castiel was coming from, even if he didn’t agree with it.

“It’s also ironic that these souls being sold are helping keep Earth’s population down. It has since ballooned.” Castiel rubbed his face. “The Earth can’t support this many people.”

“How many?”

“10 billion, give or take.” Castiel sighed.

Dean whistled. “And what about the things that go bump in the night?”

“Steady.” Castiel pondered for a minute. “Though the Hunter population has grown slightly more.”

“Really?” Dean was slightly surprised to hear about that, thinking it would be less.

“With information continuously available, more people are connecting with other people that have experienced supernatural occurrences. Some have gone one step further, like your father,” Castiel explained. “You and Sam, your names, have become almost mythic.”

“Wait, what?”

“The Winchester Gospels. The Supernatural books.” Castiel stood up. “People began vouching for those books. Saying that they were real, that they happened. They weren’t wrong, of course, but it meant that your names became something more than just names. That you two were the next Cain and Abel.”

“But they ended.” Dean was rightfully puzzled. “Chuck stopped writing. Even all the unpublished work ended before all of this. They couldn’t have known about Cain or the Mark.”

“Someone continued,” Castiel spoke mysteriously, but even he didn’t know who continued writing.

“I…” Dean shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. “Tell me something different. What’s going on with your life, Cas?”

Castiel though for a moment with how to answer. “It’s… purposeful.”

“Purposeful?”

“I have a purpose again.” Castiel nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “I have something to look forward to after finishing my duty with the angels.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“You.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, turning his back against Castiel, “I’m not really something you would look forward to, Cas. I’m something you would run away from.”

Castiel, in the way that he is, managed to invade Dean’s personal space in just a fraction of a second. “You were the one that ran. I just… Chose to follow. Besides, now that you insist on staying here I can at least find you easily. You staying here…”

“It’s the only way. I know you want to tell me otherwise.” He turned his body to face the angel, his voice exasperated for trying to convince Castiel of the truth.

“Sam has said differently.” Castiel looked him straight in the eye.

The air escaped out of Dean’s lungs. “W-what do you mean?”

“I’ve spoken to him on occasion, he prays to me and I respond,” Castiel spoke plainly and without hesitation.

“He’s… he’s in heaven?” Dean asked, hopeful.

“Did you expecting anything less?” Castiel tilted his head.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure where he was going after all we’ve done. I honestly don’t know where I’d be going if I somehow lost this mark and died,” Dean shrugged, looking down. “Hell? Purgatory? The supposed void? I don’t know.”

“Of course you’d go to Heaven. I’d see it through.” Castiel shook his head.

“How’d you manage to talk to him anyways? I thought angels couldn’t talk to humans in heaven,” Dean wondered.

“I suppose I’ve never explained. I’m no longer ostracized there. The angels thought that my priority would be to return to Heaven after your… disappearance and Sam’s death. They were right.”

“You returned to Heaven even after all the shit they put you through?”

“They fully welcomed me back after finding and returning Metatron. I was given the privilege of visiting your family.” Castiel looked away. “There’s nothing on Earth for me besides the missions. Anyway, I recently asked him for advice.”

“Advice?”

“About you,” Castiel clarified. “I asked what I should do.”

Dean scoffed, amused. “And what did he say?”

“He said to tell you things that would make you miss being on Earth.”

“Like what? You’ve brought most of the things I miss here anyways. The others I can live without – I have been living without.”

“The Impala.”

Oh.

A sweep of nostalgia hit him, the memories of his beloved car returning as fast as his car could go. He desperately tried to remember the feel of driving, the feel of the leather and the memories that came with it, but all he could remember was the sound of the engine. Perhaps that was good enough, though, for Sam’s advice was working and he was missing being on Earth and just _driving._

Goddamn it. Of course his own brother would give that sort of advice.

“You go and tell Sam that he’s a jerk.” Dean rolled his eyes shook his head playfully, a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips.

“I can do that.” Castiel grinned softly, nodding.

“And then come back, and I’ll make us something out of what you brought me.” Dean turned around and open the cupboards.

“I look forward to it,” Castiel added before disappearing.

 

* * *

 

“Bitch.” Sam laughed, putting down his whisk – he was baking in his Heaven. “Tell him that for me.”

“Sure.”

“How is he?” Sam leaned his weight on the counter, his floury hands giving him support.

“Still human, still fighting the Mark. It seems to be easier when he’s alone.” he looked away, taking in Sam’s personal Heaven. “He’s not going back, Sam.”

Sam pursed his lips, and the hesitation caught Castiel’s attention. “What is it?”

Sam sighed, finding a dishcloth and wiping his hands with them. “Okay, you and I both want him back on Earth. It’s his home and everything is here for him. But, what if he’s right? What if he is safer there? Not from himself, but from other things.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could die here. The monsters and demons and everything else are getting stronger. If he dies, he becomes a demon, and no one wants that. It took way too long trying to track him down the last time, and even then, getting to him seemed like luck.”

“So what, we wait for everyone to die out? That would take more than a millennia.”

“I know it’s hard, but maybe it’s time to consider what he wants.”

Castiel considered that for a moment before leaving, instead searching for the one thing that he knew Dean would never lose a want for.

The sleek black metal was just covered in the thinnest film of dirt. The last time Castiel cleaned it felt like months ago. Castiel could have just left it to rust – especially if Dean was never going to return to her – but he felt it was his duty to maintain her. Dean would want that. He’d imagine himself on the road with Dean, like the good old days, and sometimes he’d wonder when he became so nostalgic, so human, and remember that it was Dean who did that – who pushed down that stone-cold barrier, who helped Castiel grow a soul. Sometimes, Castiel would just sit inside and watch the night sky, trying to focus on Dean’s planet. Perhaps Dean would be staring back.

“ _Castiel? We need you,”_ Hannah called out to him.

“ _On my way._ ”

**Sol 472**

“Dean, how are you?” Death noticed something odd. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No.” Dean dropped his smile when he realized it wasn’t Castiel. “I’m good.”

“Need anything?”

 _Tell me where Cas is,_ Dean wanted to say.

“No.”

**Sol 478**

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a cell phone.” Dean was in bed, just waking up, when he heard the rush of wings. He was still too tired to be angry with Castiel. “And you can’t exactly mail a letter.”

“I still apologize.” Castiel was genuine with his apology. “I’m late to our meal.”

“Yeah, about two weeks late.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Dean sighed and then yawned. “Gotta take a leak. Give me a second.”

Castiel clenched his jaw thinking that it felt like he’d only been on Earth a month, not a year. Either way, it was probably a good thing that Dean was experiencing a time distortion. Dean emerged from his washroom with minty fresh breath.

“So what happened?” Dean asked as he removed his t-shirt and pants and put on other clothes. “On Earth.”

“Rowena’s dead,” Castiel began, watching Dean. “The witches turned on her. But before they could do that, she burned the Book and the codex.”

“And you’re not happy about it?” Dean noticed Castiel’s sullen expression. “What gives? She was terrorizing all of us for the longest time. That Book was the source of her power.”

“But it means we won’t be able to cure you.” He looked down at Dean’s forearm. “She was the only one who could.”

Dean raised his forearm and looked at the Mark. For a while now, it had mostly been idle. No deathly urges, no hot flashes, no burning desire to kill. There was always the white noise in the background, the one feeding his desire to jump into risky situations, but Dean staved that off. It had been a while since Dean gave the Mark the attention it needed.

Dean’s forehead wrinkled in frustration. “No one ever told you, did they?”

“Told me what?”

“Why there’s a Mark? What its real purpose is?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Back before there was you. Back before God said ‘let there be light’,” Dean started, but Castiel interrupted.

“He never actually said that.”

Dean glared at him, and Castiel shut his mouth. “There was the Darkness.”

“The Darkness is a bedtime story,” Castiel interrupted again.

“Well, apparently not. It’s a real thing. It’s something that God and the archangels fought to lock away. The only way to keep it locked was with a mark.” Dean looked at the Mark. “And when God entrusted Lucifer with the Mark, it became a curse and corrupted him, it got transferred to Cain when he made a deal with the devil, and now I have it. I’m the one man army keeping the Darkness from escaping.”

Castiel was speechless.

“Okay, it’s too early for this shit,” Dean groaned. “Thankfully, I still have some coffee left. Come on, feather brain.”

Dean trudged to the kitchen and opened up the can of instant coffee. Though he wished he could do with a fresh cup of java, this was the best he had under the circumstances.

“Uh, did you want a cup?” He stopped and turned around to look at Castiel, who was still a bit shell-shocked after hearing what Dean said.

Castiel’s attention zapped back to him and he shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Dean made himself one cup of mediocre coffee, grudgingly relishing the taste of the bitterness on his tongue and the heat expanding to every inch of his body. He didn’t feel like breakfast today, so he placed his cup down and leaned his forearms on the counter.

“So, you’re taking this… Not well.” He rubbed his mouth with his hand. “I mean, I thought you knew.”

“Why would we know this?” Castiel’s forehead scrunched up in confusion. “No one talks about this, Dean. We don’t know what happened before God, and just thinking of that could be considered blasphemy.”

“Well, they should have.” Dean rolled his tired eyes. “Either way, you remove this Mark, and the Darkness will rain down on all of us and humanity and, you know, I’d really rather not deal with that.”

Castiel looked as if he was contemplating his next answer – his next strategy – but the blank look on his face told Dean that nothing was coming up.

“You know, it’s weird. Only three people have ever had this Mark. Lucifer, Cain and me. And look how they all turned out,” Dean scoffed. “One hated God and the humans, the other hated demons, I wonder what I’ll hate.”

Castiel didn’t even know what to say to that. Dean could hate a million things in a million years, and one of those things could be Castiel himself.

“Disco.” Dean nodded, half joking and half serious with his answer. “I’m already beginning to hate disco.”

Castiel blinked in order to register what he said, and then he laughed. Castiel laughed properly and couldn’t stop. His laughter was infectious, and soon Dean was doubled over, his stomach hurting.

Castiel grinned widely. “Even amongst all the literal Darkness you’re fighting, you still manage to see the light in things. I envy you for that, Dean. It’s something Lucifer never had, and what Cain briefly saw with Colette.”

Dean patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Oh, and Sam said, and I quote,” Castiel looked at him seriously. “’Bitch.’”

A smile formed on Dean’s face, both at hearing the angel swear, and for his heart warming at Sam’s response.

“Let me make us some breakfast.” Dean looked away with a smile still on his face.

“You don’t have to. I don’t exactly need the sustenance.” He didn’t want Dean to waste his resources on him.

Dean considered that for a moment. “You know, I almost forgot that you don’t. I guess I’ll just make some for myself, then.”

He washed and cut some of the local “fruit” for himself and plated it. It wasn’t his typical breakfast, but without some of the comforts of home, he’d have to make do. What he wouldn’t do to have a giant stack of pancakes and syrup.

“You know what I really miss?” Dean asked as he picked up the odd looking fruit with his fingers and placed it in his mouth, chewing loudly. “Milk. I mean, there are probably some animals on this planet I could milk, but man, that’d be so weird. Also, where would I store it? I don’t have a fridge. I don’t have electricity. Or, I guess, milk powder could work, but I am going to get sick of that.”

Castiel watched him, amused.

Dean stopped his strange rant. “Okay, yeah. When I don’t talk to someone for a while, it seems like I’ll just talk about anything when someone does come along. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Castiel smiled softly. “I completely understand. I should visit more often.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he responded a bit too quickly as he looked up at Castiel. He added, “You’re better company than Death. Not the metaphorical one, but the literal.” And when that didn’t appease the awkwardness he felt, he abruptly returned to eating when he could feel his face heating up.

Castiel didn’t sense any of the awkwardness. “What do you and Death talk about?”

Dean’s easiness returned. “Not much. He asks me how I am, if I need anything, and then leaves.”

“And do you ask for anything?”

“Seeds, sometimes.” Dean shrugged. “He tends to just refill whatever I’m low on when I’m not looking. He hasn’t really visited much, though. I think he forgot about me, to be honest.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What would be his reaction if he knew I was here?”

Dean thought about it for a minute, contemplating a few scenarios in his head, most of them resulting in Castiel’s banishment. “He might exile you, he could just totally kill you, or he might send me off to another far off planet.”

“He thinks I’m a threat. That I might send you home, or that I might still want to find a cure.”

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

He killed Sam because he knew his brother would work relentlessly to find a cure, even if it meant releasing the Darkness. Castiel would do exactly the same. Castiel kept quiet until he made his decision.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’?” Dean questioned.

“How are your plants?” Castiel changed the subject.

“Good.” He drew out his response to gauge Castiel’s body language.

“And you’re healthy?”

Dean was seriously wondering where this conversation was going and why it took such a dramatic turn.

“Ship-shape.”

“Mentally?”

“Cas! I’m fine!” Dean’s voice rose. “What’s going on?”

Castiel tapped his index finger on the top of the wooden table, as if deciding whether or not to tell Dean what he was thinking.

“Cain got on by himself for hundreds of years. He lived with the Mark without drawing any attention to himself,” Castiel began to explain, seemingly to himself rather than to Dean. “Is it wrong to assume that you can too?”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, the Mark now throbbing gently. “I can. Believe me, I can. Have faith, Cas.”

Castiel watched him closely, admiring him in the way that Castiel always admired him. “I will.”

**Sol 660**

Castiel had to leave when he heard Claire desperately praying for him. Dean could tell when something was wrong just by the way Castiel’s demeanour completely changed. Castiel said he would find out what was wrong, remedy it, and would return as soon as he could.

That was 182 days ago.

That would have been 18 years on Earth if Dean’s calculations were right.

A paralyzing thought of what could have happened to Castiel crippled his sense of reality. Castiel was obviously distressed before he left, and Dean couldn’t even offer any words of encouragement or support.

He told Castiel to have faith in him.

Dean needed to have faith in Castiel, but with every passing day, he was losing his hold on it. Everyday he’d think “Castiel’s dead.” Everyday, he’d believe it more and more.

Dean even tried praying, placing hope and trust that Castiel would hear and respond. There was even a moment where he was desperate enough to get information from Death. For a bit he wondered where this sudden dependency on Castiel came from – he had survived months without him – but then he realized it was, unfortunately, human nature to be close to someone in order to keep his sanity. The months leading up to the angel’s appearance on Dean’s planet were wrought with him pushing down memories of the angel, but once Castiel appeared, the floodgates opened, leaving Dean and his mind exposed and vulnerable. There was no going back after that.

“I need you to come back, Cas, please.” But either Castiel couldn’t hear, or…

The Mark began to prey on his fear, and what Dean thought what was once impossible – creating images, making him see things – became reality.

Dean went out hunting trying to get rid of the insatiable thirst to kill. He spotted his deer-like animal and drew an arrow. Silencing his thoughts and calming his breaths, he took aim and fired.

The arrow went through Castiel.

Of course, it really wasn’t the angel, but Dean didn’t know that, hearing the sound of his friend’s body tumbling to the floor instead. He raced to the spot and saw an angel blade sticking out of Castiel’s body. Reasoning couldn’t help his grief and he picked Castiel up, crying into his hair before the smell of alien blood caught his attention. Forcing himself to open his eyes, he realized he was embracing the dead animal. The Mark was throbbing on his arm.

It happened a few more times.

He thought he saw Castiel in his kitchen, standing stock still with his back towards him. When Dean called out, he disappeared, but there were no sound of wings.

He thought he saw Castiel watering his plants, but one look at his one and only watering can sitting beside his sink, and he knew it wasn’t real.

His last grip on reality faded when he looked up at the night sky. He hadn’t made his way to the edge of the cliff in a while, but if anything, the stars helped ground him. Dean carefully sat down, his legs dangling over the edge, his weary face smoothing out with every brush of the cool breeze against his face. When he looked for Castilleon, though, the bright blue star had disappeared. He forced his eyes closed, rubbing it as if it would help, and then looked again. The star was gone, erased from the sky. To Dean it was an omen, one that indicated that Castiel was dead.

**Sol 683**

When Castiel returned 205 days later, he knew something was horribly wrong. The air smelled odd, felt just a few degrees colder, and the sky was different – the stars were out of alignment and the black hole was in the wrong spot. Castiel couldn’t see it, but the garden had deteriorated in some spots, wildly sprouted with blooms that went unpicked, and in others it was in pristine condition. What this said about Dean’s condition, Castiel wouldn’t know.

“Dean?” He cautiously opened the door to Dean’s cabin.

It was dark inside, the only source of light being the dying fire from the fireplace. There was no sign of Dean Winchester.

“Dean?” He called again, stepping slowly into the cabin.

Castiel’s worst fears began to take hold; the biggest one being that Dean had gotten hurt and somehow became a demon.

He suddenly heard a whimper come from Dean’s bedroom and some of his fears subsided. Dean was in bed – of course he was, it was night after all – but when Castiel got closer and closer to him, he could see that Dean was beginning to thrash in his sleep from a nightmare. Not wanting to see the man suffering, Castiel swiftly went to him and shook him awake, gently calling out his name.

Dean woke up with crazed eyes and he immediately reached for the dagger under his pillow, stabbing Castiel through the chest before darting out into the living room. The dagger didn’t hurt the angel whatsoever, of course, but instead reminded him of their meeting in that barn in what seems like ages ago.

Dean made a lot of noise, crashing into chairs trying to escape his bedroom, but then it suddenly became too silent until the sound of a log thrown onto the fireplace echoed throughout the cabin. That sound was followed by Dean swearing and then later uttering “I need a drink.”

“Dean?” Castiel slowly walked out of Dean’s bedroom and towards him, where the room was just slightly better illuminated.

“Shit.” Dean’s body whipped toward Castiel and his eyes went almost comically wide.

Castiel was close enough to touch him, and he made the mistake of doing so. Dean literally jumped backwards into the wall, his back crashing hard into it and then falling to the ground.

“Dean!” He called out, but Dean was backing away from him, so Castiel knelt down, his hands in a defensive motion. “Please, it’s alright.”

Dean, now tearful and quite possibly on his way to a panic attack, began to scratch the Mark. “How do I know you’re real? How do I know the Mark isn’t playing with me?”

“I’m real.” Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder but all he did was violently flinch away, curling into a ball in the corner.

“How do I know that you haven’t died and I’m just seeing things?” Dean’s face was red and coated in tears.

“Dean, watch me. Concentrate.” Castiel began to breathe, inhaling and exhaling for Dean to follow. “You trust your senses. You know they are real.”

Castiel held out his hand at a fair distance. Dean uncertainly placed his hand on top.

“Can you feel that? That is me.” He kept looking Dean in the eye, now slightly grasping Dean’s hand and slowly moving it to his jaw. “This is you. Do you feel a difference? Can you feel me?”

“Yes.” Dean’s voice was strangled. “I’m real. You’re real.”

“Yes, I am real. I am here.” Castiel nodded slowly.

“The Mark.” Dean looked at it with vile in his eyes.

“I understand.” He looked at Dean only. “I’m sorry.”

**Sol 670**

_“Cas, if you can hear this, I’m sorry,”_ _Dean spoke to himself, 192 days into Cas’ disappearance._

_He took his dagger, the one he used for his own personal protection, and turned the blade towards his wrist. It wouldn’t be too bad, right? He’d just be a demon when all the blood drained – a demon with no feelings, and no more worrying thoughts about what happened to Castiel. This is what the Mark wanted. This is why it created images – to drive him to do this. He’d just fall asleep and turn into a demon. That is, assuming that without the First Blade he’d even wake up at all._

_He brought the rough dagger down to his skin and put some slight pressure to draw a little bit of blood. It stung a little, as it would, but Dean had been put in more painful situations than this._

_He wanted to see the stars one last time as a human, so as he sat on the edge of the cliff with the blade on his wrist, he looked up. Castilleon was still missing, but Family was still in the sky, and the star Sam blinked brightly, as if his brother was looking down on him. With that thought, he immediately gasped and dropped his blade, wiping his bloody wrist and wondering what he was thinking trying to off himself._

_“Pull yourself together.” He shook his head, muttering to himself._

_Dean scrambled to get up, and with one last look at the dagger, he stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans. Running back to his cabin, he threw open the door and looked around for something to distract him. Finding only a book by Vonnegut, he sat himself down on his couch and pulled open a page. His wrist was caked in drying blood but he forced himself to look elsewhere. Shakily, he read the words out loud._

_“’Yes, and the word Socialist was the second S in USSR, so good-bye, Socialism along with Communism, good-bye to the soul of Eugene Debs of Terre Haute.’” Dean flipped to the next, unable to concentrate on the words he was saying. “’_ _He didn't pledge allegiance, but indicated instead that he was trying to understand everything Trout had said to him so far. He said, “You told me you had something”…’_

_‘"You were sick, but now you're well, and there's work to do," said Trout.’” He closed his eyes and put the book down._

_Dean turned his head to look outside the window at the garden that had suffered from his delusions. Rubbing his eyes, he took in a few deep breaths before standing up. A little shaky, he got a glass of water from his reserve and drank it all, careful not to waste a drop. He spent thirteen months on this godforsaken planet without Castiel, so he could certainly live a little longer without him if he just pushed the inevitable need to be near him down and away._

_“There’s work to do,” Dean spoke to himself._

**Sol 683**

“683. 6. 8. 3. My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean muttered to himself when he sat down on the couch. “You were sick, but now you’re well, and there’s work to do.”

While he repeated his mantra to himself – he discovered it as a way to keep his mind in check when he started to lose his grip on reality – Castiel went to go fetch a blanket of sorts to wrap Dean in.

“Dean?” Castiel was apparently calling him.

“Yeah?” Dean softly breathed out, not looking at the angel just yet.

“Is it okay if I?” Castiel was in front of him, motioning to put the blanket over Dean.

He nodded slowly. After he did that, Castiel asked if he could sit down. Dean nodded again.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel said again.

“You said that,” Dean snapped back, and then he took a breath. “Never mind.”

Besides the crackling of the fire, silence filled the room, surrounding the two in unmistakable tension. Castiel thought that Dean might’ve fallen asleep, but one look at the man and he could see that his eyes were wide open, staring aimlessly at the fire.

“How long have I been gone?” He broached that topic.

“What happened on Earth?” Dean avoided that question, instead asking his own.

Castiel watched the fire for a moment before answering softly, “Claire died.”

Dean dared to _really_ look at him for the first time in this conversation. Castiel was struggling to hide the crumpled expression on his face – the one Dean knew well when he experienced a loved one dying. No tears fell from the angel’s face, though, and perhaps only something Earth shattering would one day make Castiel cry.

Castiel answered his questions before he could bother asking. “It was a hunt gone bad. I couldn’t get there in time. I couldn’t save…”

“Hey.” Dean scooted closer to him, blanket and the Mark be damned, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is not your fault that she’s dead.”

“What’s good about being an angel if I can’t help the one person on Earth who matters to me?” Castiel shook his head. “What’s the point of me, really?”

“Are you really asking yourself that?” Dean was in disbelief. “I guess if you’re as old as you are you get the mid-life crisis card.”

Castiel just stared.

“Fine. Do you know what’s the point of you, Cas?” Dean cleared his throat. “You help people. You save them. You protect humanity from monsters and from itself. Isn’t that enough? You put Lucifer back in the cage, for God’s sake.”

“But Claire,” Castiel tried to protest. “And you. I couldn’t save you. Not this time.”

“Cas, you gotta know, sometimes you… Can’t save everyone.” Dean sighed.

Quietness settled between the two. Though he was certain that Castiel was just inches away, he closed his eyes and recited his mantra in his head. He didn’t need to open them to know that there was a warm solid body sitting right there. Dean was still afraid though that this was all just an elaborate trick that the Mark was playing – he’d know for certain in the morning.

“Do you, uh, do you have to go back tonight? To Earth?”

“No, not tonight.”

“Can I ask you to do something?” Dean hesitantly started. “It’s weird and I wouldn’t ask you normally …”

“Anything.”

“Could you stay here with me tonight?” Dean didn’t even bother looking up.

There was no hesitation from Castiel. “Of course. I think we might both need each other’s company after all that’s happened.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and stood up. “Follow me.”

Dean walked to his bedroom knowing that Castiel was just steps behind. He honestly didn’t know what Castiel would be thinking right now. He just hoped that everything that had been left unsaid on Earth – all the staring, the invasion of personal space, the “I need you” and sacrificing for one another – would continue to stay unsaid.

“I just, uh...” Dean got to his side of the bed and Castiel stayed rooted in the doorway. “Need proof that you’re really here.”

“I am.” Castiel noted the slight frustration in Dean’s face. “What do you need me to do?”

“Can you just, um, lay down beside me?” Dean could feel his face reddening, so he got into his bed hoping Castiel wouldn’t see.

Castiel followed his instruction without another word and began to remove some articles of clothing. It was always so strange to see him out of the get-up – he looked so normal, like a regular office worker. After a moment, there was a dip in the bed and Dean could feel the heat radiating off of Cas even as he lay atop the covers. He shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but nothing happened. Rather, questions were filling his mind with none being answered.

“Why’d you come back?” Dean softly spoke into the air. “Why now?”

He thought that Castiel must have fallen asleep or something when he didn’t answer right away, but he supposed it took a lot of courage to even recount Claire’s death. “I wanted to know if …”

“If?”

“If you wanted to say goodbye to her. Pay respects, as it were.”

He shifted his body to look at Castiel easier. “You know I can’t go back.”

“I know, but it was worth asking. She had a lot of respect for you in the end,” Castiel mentioned. “I think she would have liked to see you.”

“Yeah.” Dean imagined seeing Claire, a little older, maybe a little bruised, fighting for another breath, and it almost brought him to think about Sam when Castiel thankfully interrupted that train of thought.

“I spent months looking for the thing that killed her, but there was no satisfaction in killing it. She was already gone.” Castiel stared straight up at the ceiling.

“Wait.” Dean propped himself up on his pillow. “Months?”

“Yes, about six, give or take, after her death. Then I came here.” He noticed Dean’s confusion. “What is it?”

“You were on Earth for how long?”

“Seven months, I think?” Castiel was getting really confused at Dean’s reaction. “How long was I gone for?”

“You should have been gone for...” Dean sat up now. “18 years.”

Castiel also sat up, but he got out of bed instead. “No, that’s impossible. I’m sure I was only gone for seven months. It should only be 5 days for you. 6 at most.”

“I’ve been waiting here for 205 days, Cas, for you.” Dean clenched his fists, taking deep breaths, trying to avoid reliving the bad days.

“That’s not …” Castiel stopped and quickly made his way outside of the cabin.

“Cas?!” Dean followed him just as quickly.

He found Castiel just a few yards away from the cabin staring at the night sky. When Dean approached him, Castiel had guilt-ridden eyes.

“I apologize, Dean. I truly am so, so, sorry.” Castiel shook his head. “I was wrong.”

“What’s going on?” Dean looked up at the sky.

“Have you not noticed anything strange?” Castiel tilted his head. “Look, Dean, really look at the sky.”

Dean, with Castiel’s encouragement, stared at the sky. He knew that the stars were somewhat out of alignment, so what? He wasn’t an astronomer. As long as the black hole didn’t get bigger and as long as the sun kept rising, it was all fine and dandy, right?

“You don’t see it.” Castiel took his hand. “I’m really sorry.”

Dean didn’t pull away when he felt another hand in his. It was the first time in a long time he had anyone else’s hand in his. This intimacy was so foreign to him that part of him wanted to run away, yet another wanted to hold it tight. There wasn’t anything particularly romantic about the gesture, but it was fitting that it would be Castiel, and he looked down to see how well it fit. They just fit.

“Come inside.” Castiel was in Dean’s personal space, but he didn’t mind.

Castiel let go of Dean’s hand and Dean, much to his conflicting emotions, already missed the feeling. Castiel walked in first, but headed straight for Dean’s bedroom.

“Rest, please.” Castiel motioned to Dean’s bed, even as Dean looked on with confusion. “You have had an emotional night.”

“Do you wanna explain all that out there?” Dean sat on the edge of his bed, wondering if this part of the cabin was really a place for what seemed to be a serious conversation.

“Maybe I should explain in the morning.” He paced, which made Dean worry even more since Castiel never paced.

“No, explain now,” Dean demanded.

Castiel stopped and sat beside him, their thighs touching. “I was wrong.”

“About?”

Castiel sighed, looking at the ground.

“If you’re gonna go on with your existential angel crisis, or some bullshit about me and the Mark, get it over with,” Dean prodded.

“The black hole.”

“What?”

“I was wrong about the black hole.” Castiel looked at him.

Dean’s expression turned to confusion.

“The black hole is a strange thing and I never should have thought that I could ever be smarter than it. I thought it was a very weak, very heavy, but gravitationally unstable star, not unlike the usual supermassive suns that usually become black holes. It would explain why this planet and all the surrounding planets still exist around it.

“I assumed you were orbiting the black hole but you weren’t. This planet is attached to the sun you wake up to and when you pass the black hole, time distorts. Time returns to normal once you’re far enough away,” Castiel explained slowly. “I’m pretty sure you’re entering the next few months under the dilation. I calculated it wrong the first time I arrived. When I came to you, every month was three years on Earth, but under the apex of the black hole’s pull it could be five. I simply don’t have enough information.

“As the years go by the black hole could grow. Its gravity could get stronger until one year you’ll no longer orbit the sun, but both of you will orbit the black hole. One year, it could mean that at most a month equals ten years on Earth. Years later, it may mean twenty. Soon, it could be that a minute spent here is a year on Earth. Or none of this may happen. I just…” Castiel took in a deep breath and released it. “Don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t like not knowing. If only it were in my control.”

Dean didn’t say anything, rather, took his time to process what he learned. It explained a lot, that’s for sure, and he was never the physicist or astronomer, so he had to take Castiel’s word for it. Instead, he stood up, walked to his side of his bed, pulled the covers and got in, pulling the covers to his chest and stared at ceiling.

“So I’m not a senior citizen?”

Something that resembled a relieved sigh and a laugh burst out from Castiel’s mouth.

He turned his body to look at Dean. “I suspect you may be closer to 55 in Earth years. It is all very confusing, calculating this. I’ve never seen anything like it. It defies most laws of physics.”

“It probably doesn’t matter.” Dean shrugged. “I’m gonna live forever anyways.”

The weight at the end of Dean’s bed shifted and he lifted his head to watch Castiel move to the other side, settling in beside him.

“Good night, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

_Castiellon was shining brighter than Dean had ever seen it. Maybe it was the black hole pulling his planet closer to it, which is why it seemed so blue. Sitting out on that cliff’s edge from sunrise to sunset helped him find his peace. His Mark never throbbed when he just watched the sun change the sky’s colours. Even when the darkness enveloped the planet and the moons and stars dotted the night sky, the calmness and stillness was absolute. Dean had no other priorities, nothing to feel shame or guilt for, and above all, he felt whole._

_He could feel a presence behind him._

_“So this is what you dream of.” Castiel sat beside him. “The stars.”_

_“You’re in my dreams again?” Dean looked over at the angel, but with no malice in his voice. “What’d I say about that?”_

_“You were trembling. I thought it might be a nightmare,” Castiel spoke, staring at the dream-stars with him. “I can see it might be because you’re dreaming that you’re cold.”_

_Dean looked down at his skin, wearing only a t-shirt and shorts – there were goose bumps. “Guess so.”_

_The silence extended for a while before Dean dared to do something he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to do in the real world. He held Castiel’s hand._

_“You’re here, right?” He asked, looking at his angel._

_“I am.”_

_“So when I wake up?”_

_“I’ll be there.”_

_“Okay.”_

**Sol 684**

It was just late in the morning and the strange little birds sang their strange little tune in the forest. Dean, still lingering between the dream world and reality, slowly blinked his eyes open, finding his face pressed against Castiel’s shoulder. His first thought waking that morning? He hoped that he did not drool on the angel. It did not occur to him quite yet that he was curled up against his friend. Castiel did not move away, so maybe this was okay.

He rolled over onto his back when he was certain that Castiel was there – that everything that happened last night wasn’t a hallucination or a dream, that he wasn’t being preyed on by the curse on his arm. He lifted his head and looked over at the angel. If Dean didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Castiel was sleeping. They were so close together.

Softly, he whispered in the air, “Cas?”

Castiel’s eyelid’s shot open and Dean watched with fascination as Castiel’s pupils adjusted to the light. Blinking a few times, Castiel took in a deep breath and looked over at him. It was all very mechanical.

“Yes, Dean?”

He could so easily just place his hand on Castiel’s cheek, caress his jaw line and rub his thumb against his stubble, and then pull him in for a soft, languid morning kiss. They were the only two on this planet. No one would argue, no one to intrude in the private moment.

“Nothing.” Dean pushed the impulse away, instead getting up and out of bed.

**Sol 684**

Sometime during the day, Castiel helped him with piling logs against his cabin as Dean chopped wood. His log pile was dwindling slowly and he appreciated the extra set of hands for the laborious task.

“So you weren’t sleeping, were you?” Dean asked, seemingly out-of-the-blue.

Castiel appeared to know what he was getting at. “No, I was deep in conversation with my brothers and sisters.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean swung his new axe down (thanks, Death) on the log. “You’re an important guy – the angels need you for something?”

He was afraid of the answer, that it would be something dangerous and life threatening. Between the both of them, they were both attracted to things that were risky and, sometimes, stupid.

“They always need me for something, but I have a more pressing task,” Castiel carefully thought out his words.

Dean exhaled harshly and put the axe down. “What’s that?”

“I made a promise.” He looked at Dean seriously.

“To who?”

“To Claire and … her daughter.”

“Claire has a daughter?”

“Taylor. She’s 3.”

“What was the promise?”

“That I’d take care of her.”

“So you’re gonna go back.” Dean’s heart sank, understanding he never should have built up any hope that Castiel would stay for a prolonged time.

“I am.”

Dean placed another piece of wood, balancing it on the stump, and swung the axe down, heavy with conflicting emotions, a little harder than before. 

“I’ll come back,” Castiel tried to reassure Dean.

Dean tossed the two pieces of wood aside. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“We can use the time dilation to our advantage,” Castiel continued. “In six months time, 18 years will have passed by on Earth. It’ll be enough time to see Taylor reach maturity.”

He hesitated with his response. Six months was a while, but Dean could manage without him – he had been doing it way before Castiel first came. He just needed to practice his control and gain more discipline over the Mark so that he wouldn't lose his mind so easily. 

“I promised Claire I would look after her.” Castiel tried to spin it another way, even though he knew it would cause Dean to suffer. “After all that she’s been through, after all that’s happened when she was a child, it’s the least I can do.”

“You always were the angel with too much heart.” Dean sighed. “Go. I’ll be here. Six months is nothing. Just … don’t get yourself killed.”

With a soft expression, Castiel simply nodded.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” Castiel stuck one hand into his pocket and pulled out something small. “I had this printed for you.”

Castiel stepped closer to him and, with his arm outstretched, handed Dean the small photograph. Leaving the axe balanced in the trunk, Dean looked at the picture. It was Claire, a little older, sitting in what he automatically knew to be the Impala. Taylor, who looked so much like her mother, sat on her lap gleefully holding onto the steering wheel as Claire held the camera up for a selfie.

“I found it on her phone. It was taken a couple weeks before she died,” Castiel explained. “She helped me move the Impala to the bunker so that it wouldn’t be stolen or destroyed.”

Dean looked at the photo even more closely, If he was 55, it meant something like 14 years passed by on Earth. Claire must have been 36 when she died – just about the age he was when he was sent away. Past the Impala, past the fact that she was a hunter, she looked so utterly normal - less makeup than her usual, and her long blonde hair tied in a messy bun.

“Why didn’t she leave the life?” He asked, still staring at the photo. “She could have had one, what with her kid and all.”

“She couldn’t. After all that happened with her father, and simply being exposed to monsters … It never leaves you. She couldn’t just turn a blind eye,” Castiel explained.

Dean conceded. “Yeah, I guess I get that. What happened to the father?”

“Fellow hunter. Also killed during a hunt,” Castiel solemnly answered. “This child is left alone in the world.”

“So when you go back, what are you going to do?” Dean raised his brow, legitimately concerned for this girl.

“The foster system won’t help her.” Castiel exhaled harshly. “I suppose simply looking after her in the shadows won’t help either.”

“That’s also kinda creepy, Cas.”

“She wouldn’t see me.”

“Still.”

“I may … adopt her.” He looked away, not wanting to see Dean’ reaction to that option.

Dean was definitely incredulous the first moment he heard that last suggestion. Castiel was first and foremost a warrior, a soldier, but he knew that Castiel, as an angel, could do more for the little girl than any regular human parent could do. How she would grow up wouldn’t really matter – it mattered more that she had someone to support her, to care for her. He put the picture in his pocket, mentally reminding himself to store it somewhere safe.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dean cocked a grin. “You got a kid to raise, Cas. There’s no time to waste.”

A smile blossomed on Castiel’s face, and by God, it was beautiful. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I’ll see you in six months, Cas.”

**Sol 829, aka 5 days before Castiel’s expected return**

So what if Dean was counting down the days till Castiel would come back? He had a friend in this world – one that had literally been through hell and back for him – so he would worry about him, even if he knew what Castiel was up to. His thoughts frequently went to how Taylor was growing up with a literal guardian angel and how Castiel was faring as a pseudo parent. He could only imagine, basing his experiences on his short-term stint caring for Ben.

Dean smiled when he began to recall Ben and Lisa. By now, Ben would be well into his adult life, and Lisa? She could have been a grandmother. It didn’t affect him one way or the other – it’s not like they remembered him – but he began to think more fantastical. Dean imagined himself as a dad, raising Taylor. It’s probably what he would have done if he was still on Earth and free of the Mark. He would have pressed the idea of adoption, as no child should be raised the way he and Sam were raised, but Claire would be so vehemently against that, herself being a child of the system. Sam would have liked to be a dad and Dean knew that. And Mary, she would have loved to be a grandmother.

There it was – that temptation to look at those old and aging photos placed safely in his cabin, and the dull ache in his heart. Dean knew that little by little he was starting to forget bits and pieces of his family. He was forgetting Mary’s voice, he was forgetting his father’s face, and he was forgetting how it felt to cradle Sam out of a fire. All of these little things filled him with the desire just to look at the pictures but he knew it was a terrible idea. Sam knew it would make him want to go home, and he needed to be stronger for his sake, and for the Earth’s sake. Besides, maybe Cas can help with his memories.

The smell of something greasy immediately caught his attention and stalled any thoughts of those photos. Dean nearly forgot that it was time for Death’s monthly visit.

“For you.” Death placed the bag down on Dean’s kitchen table and it made a dull thump, confusing him.

“What’s the occasion?” he walked over to the bag.

“Nothing in particular,” Death spoke smoothly. “Thought you might miss this.”

Opening it, the smell of fries and a burger overwhelmed his senses, but it was the small bottle of Jack that had Dean blurting out, “You’re kidding.”

“You never ask for anything, Dean. I don’t know if it’s because you think you can do it alone, or because you want to distance yourself from everything associated with Earth.” Death shook his head, but he didn’t sit down – it was a quick visit, then. “Why is that?”

He understood and his body stiffened. “Why does it matter now?”

“How’s the Mark?” Death changed the subject.

“Um, good.” Dean looked down at it. “I kill an animal, the urge goes down. It’s fine.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.” Dean scratched his arm. “Once every few weeks?”

“Alright.” Death walked towards him. “I want you to keep track when you kill something. Count the days.”

“Why?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Why all this therapist shit that you’re pulling on me?”

“Just do this, and the next time, I’ll bring a bigger bottle.” Death motioned to the whiskey with his head before disappearing from Dean’s sights.

He looked around, but when he was satisfied that Death was no longer present, he dug into the burger, savouring every single bite and finishing it off with a few swigs from the bottle. God, he missed fast food and alcohol.

**Sol 834**

It was a bit of walk back from the waterfall. His baths there were short since the water was quite cold, but he always felt refreshed and clean afterwards. Sometimes he just sat at the base watching the tumbling water but today there was no time to waste. Castiel was coming back. Dean rubbed at his freshly shaven jaw. He grew a beard when Castiel was gone but felt it was time for change, and he told himself he didn’t shave it off for Cas.

Returning to the cabin, he found he was excited to hear about Cas’ stories about raising a kid. It seemed the feeling was mutual for Castiel, as he came upon the angel waiting patiently for him. As if no time had passed at all, he began relating 18 years of stories to an enraptured Dean. Castiel spoke of his struggles at the beginning, trying to take care of her while finding a place other than the bunker to live. Being an angel with plenty of resources, he was able to find a nice suburban home in the Pacific Northwest. He didn’t want to raise Taylor as a hunter, but never hid what he was. The angels weren’t exactly happy with the situation at hand.

She called him dad, but when it came time for him to explain what happened to her parents, she switched, calling him Cas or Angel Dad. He brought her all over the world, and her independence and intelligence bloomed. Though she missed her mom dearly – she couldn’t remember her birth father very much – she was grateful for him. For her 16th birthday, he brought her back in time to see her mom.

There were other challenges that Castiel had to face that he hadn’t quite planned for – one of them being his un-aging appearance. Being a “single parent” amplified the attention he got when he was made to attend parent-teacher conferences. Men and women alike were drawn to him, whether he wanted it or not, but he managed, saying great genes, exercise, and diet kept him nearly unchanging.

While Castiel remained the same, Taylor grew so fast. From a little girl to a young woman aspiring to be an astronaut pilot, he almost couldn’t keep up. It was almost like seeing Claire again. When he told her of his plans to return to that faraway planet, she gave him a going away gift – a new blue tie.

“Why an astronaut pilot?” Dean asked, fingering the soft blue material of the tie.

“I told her about you. Perhaps a bit too much.” Castiel looked down and smiled. “She said she wanted to see what you saw. Maybe even find you.”

Dean cast a curious look at him. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“Knows you well enough.” Castiel sat forward. “Do you remember when I told you how you and your brother became mythic?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Those books and my stories are more than enough to give her a glimpse into the life of Dean and Sam Winchester,” he explained. “Having you and I intertwined with the life of her mother, and her grandfather giving up his body for an angel – it’s something that is almost legendary in her eyes.”

“So where is she now? NASA?”

Castiel nodded. “Eventually.”

“Doesn’t she miss you?”

“I feel her longing for me every once in awhile, but she was well aware that I couldn’t always be there. She knew I had a friend abandoned on a planet many light years away. She’s almost too independent for her own good, but she knows how to contact me when she needs me.”

“You’re a good dad, Cas.” He patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Come on, I could use your help around here.”

He smiled a soft, shy smile at Dean.

**Sol 3024**

It was a good life, albeit a boring one, but it was safe. Most of the time Dean wasn’t alone. He had good company with Death, Castiel, and the strange little animal he domesticated. His little pet was a bird-like animal, with copper plumed feathers that didn’t extend very far, and a very tall body. Even stranger was that the bird had four legs and four wings. He found it calling out when it accidentally flew into his closed window, breaking one of its wings. He tended to it, feeding the bird until it became attached, never leaving Dean’s side. He called it Charlie.

Charlie didn’t have a long lifespan, and when the bird inevitably passed away, He cried. Charlie reminded him of the other Charlie he lost so suddenly, and it made him think of her and Sam and Kevin and every other person he lost along the way – all the people he had to say goodbye to. He resolutely decided that saying goodbye sucked, but not saying it was devastating.

Castiel seemed to think the same, but his reasons were different. Though words were never spoken about what Dean would do if Taylor somehow managed to find him, it wouldn’t matter anyways. He would never meet Taylor. Or Joy, or Clara. Taylor died of old age, but was a pioneer in her field of astronautics. Her daughter, Joy, followed in her mother’s footsteps and broke ground as the first woman to successfully live on Mars for more than ten years. Clara, born on Earth, was the last to meet Castiel, and the last to give him a blue tie. Clara, following her mother, her grandmother and her great-grandmother, got into that spaceship with the hopes of one day finding the man that she heard about through stories passed on from generations. With her crew of five she managed what most others couldn’t – she left the solar system. They were also the first crew in the history of the Earth to die in a different solar system. Castiel couldn’t help, nor could he say his farewells. He couldn’t help but to compare the situation to Dean.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” He asked in the dark as he lay beside Dean – this was a ritual anytime Castiel came, with him lying beside Dean as Dean drifted to sleep. “When you left the Earth?”

“Because it would have hurt too much.” Dean felt numbness in his heart, having to explain it. “Because you would have made me stay, and I would have hated you for that. I had to do this for myself. You can’t deny that being alone on a planet hasn’t helped me.”

“Part of me always believed that wherever you had gone you’d come back, but when I heard nothing, no prayer, no whisper of anyone knowing where you were, and you still didn’t come...” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and ignored the stinging in his eyes as he listened to Castiel. “A part of me began to believe more and more that you were dead.

“But then I felt the last bits of longing. It travelled so far, and it was so hidden because you were afraid to let it go. But I am grateful that you spared me a thought. It helped me find you. And I suppose, if you allow it, I will always be able to find you.”

He let that sink in for a bit, allowing Castiel’s words to course through his veins, pushing away the poison.

“Why do you never say goodbye?” Dean finally found the courage to speak.

“What do you mean?”

“When you leave here, you never say goodbye.” He tried to form the right words. “You just sort of… go.”

“A goodbye has too much finality attached to it. I don’t say it because you know I’m going to come back,” Castiel spoke emotionlessly, and the way he said it was a sharp blow to Dean, especially after hearing all that he said about Dean’s absent goodbye. “I promise you that.”

“No, you can’t promise me that. You can never promise me that. You go off to fight Heaven’s battles and I can never know if you’ll survive it. What if I live to see a million, and you die on a planet I can never get to? I will never be able to say goodbye. I will never see you again.” Dean voiced his deepest concern – one he never thought would see the light of day. "You are my only friend left in this world, so yeah, I worry about what happens to you, Cas. It's why I had that breakdown."

“Dean, you told me to have faith in you.” Castiel sighed softly. “I’m asking you to have faith in me, to have faith in the fact that I will always come back, and that I will always come when you call.”

It was true, every single time, and without needing to ask, Castiel came back. Dean never dared to ask why the angel would come back to him – to this monster with a mark. Was it pity? Guilt?

Whatever bond they nevertheless had, it transcended time and space. It was literally, ironically, profound in Dean’s eyes. And maybe he did understand why, deep down in his soul, behind the ribs that were marked by the angel, and past the poison that inhabited his arm – he knew, and he chose to ignore it out of fear.

He closed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Alright.”

“What can I do to help you believe in me?” Castiel focused his eyes on Dean, trying to bore deep into his soul for the answer.

“I don’t know.” Dean turned over.

What he really wanted to say could have been answered with one word: stay.

**Sol 39,001**

The alien bees buzzed around Dean and Castiel as they gardened together. For the most part, it was done in silence. Having years and years of life left there wasn’t much to talk about, but when a new topic seemed to pop from out of nowhere, Castiel never minded. It helped that when he travelled back and forth between the Earth and Dean’s planet, there was always something new to talk about.

“How long does it take you to get here?” Dean asked with his hands in the dirt.

Castiel insisted he helped him with his bounty, and though Dean couldn’t offer him many gardening supplies, Castiel just shrugged, saying that if Joshua could maintain the Garden by himself, then he could deal with not having a spade.

“Hours? I’m not quite sure.” Castiel gently pulled out a carrot. “It isn’t popping in and out like on Earth. We’re millions of light years away.”

“Damn,” Dean huffed and turned his head to look at him. “But your wings?”

“It took time, but they grew back. The first few years were difficult on them since I spent most of the time looking for you, so I depended on normal vehicular transportation. It was a good day when I was able to spread my wings, so to speak.” Castiel pulled out another batch of carrots. “These have grown well. You’re a good gardener, Dean.”

“Alien gardener,” Dean joked, nudging him. “Come on, it’s getting dark. Better get these inside.”

“I’m going to continue on with this patch.” He looked up at Dean. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Course.” Dean shrugged, smiling at him as he stood up.

It was a bit of a juggle trying to get his harvest in his cabin in one go, but Dean eventually managed to set the vegetables down on his table, proudly smiling at what he had grown. The lack of junk food helped cleanse his system and the fresh, organic food allowed him to play with recipes.

“Dean.”

A voice he did not expect to hear for at least twenty sols filled the spaces between the walls.

“Death.” Dean turned around abruptly. “What are you doing here?”

Death had his back towards the window, but Dean stupidly looked past his shoulder to see if Castiel noticed anything. Death, obviously, knew what Dean was doing and followed his gaze. Castiel continued gardening not knowing what was happening just a wall away. He sharply inhaled.

“I know he’s been visiting.” Death looked back at Dean. “Castiel.”

He remained quiet thinking that no response was better, not that he could come up with a reason.

“Stop panicking, Dean,” Death scoffed. “The only reason I’m allowing it is because he’s long given up his mission of trying to cure you.”

“And how could you know that?” Dean broke his silence.

“Because he found a cure,” Death simply stated, so matter-of-fact that it caught Dean off-guard.

“What?”

“He never told you, of course.” Death put leaned his cane on the table and sat down, examining Dean’s harvest. “Many years ago, that witch, Rowena, bargained for her life before she met her end. She asked Castiel to spare her from the other witches. She told him that she did have the cure for the Mark, and that if he protected her, she’d perform it. And if not...” Death sighed. “Goodbye Book of the Damned. Guess what choice he made?”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dean kept making furtive glances at Castiel.

“Because, I’m making you an offer. An amendment, as I put it, to this...” Death gracefully gestured to his surroundings. “Contract.”

“What offer?”

“Our deal was based on the fact that Sam and Castiel would stop at nothing to find a cure, that they would release the Darkness for your freedom and well-being. That was our first priority. The second was keeping you and anything else away from hurting, or being hurt. Since Sam is no longer meddling, and Castiel has grown to accept the situation, there is the matter of the second point,” Death paused, giving Dean a chance to absorb this information. “Cain managed to live a life in complete safety, give or take a few bee stings, and in isolation on Earth. After watching you, I believe you can do the same.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m getting a return ticket?” Dean clarified, his hands motioning wildly.

“Yes.”

“Is that why you’ve got me counting the days between each kill? To see what my control level is?”

“Yes.”

Dean rubbed his face – there was a catch, there had to be. “How long do I have to decide?”

“For however long you choose.” Death stood up, his cane making a dull thump as it touched the wooden floor. “But I must warn you that the longer you stay here, and I know you understand the time slippage, you may risk seeing the Earth meet it’s end.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Earth will eventually die,” Death sighed. “As it would. But, if you choose to stay here, I can’t say how long it will be before your planet dies.”

“So my choice is to see the Earth die, or to die here, with no way of knowing which one is going to hit the dust first,” Dean laid it out.

“Your choice,” Death said simply. “It will be a while yet, but why take your chances?”

Death disappeared from Dean’s sights, leaving him with a curious decision to make.

**Sol 39,342**

It took Dean nearly a year to decide by weighing the pros and cons of the decision to either stay or leave. In the year of decision-making, memories – the good, bad, and ugly – were brought up, leaving him with a lot of good days and a lot of bad days. He didn’t tell Castiel about the conversation he and Death had, and it helped that Death rarely visited, but Castiel would sometimes come upon him having a panic attack simply thinking about himself returning to Earth causing destruction and chaos wherever he went, and after Castiel helped calm Dean down, he’d wonder what provoked the attacks. He knew that Dean avoided thinking about the past, and now suddenly there were three panic attacks in the last month? It was suspicious to him but month by month it got better and the attacks less frequent when Dean realized that the only way to help with the bad was to remember the good.

After years of pushing everything away, Dean allowed himself to freely think about home. He thought about the bunker and his friends, he thought about his family and how they helped people, he thought about saving people and hunting things. But none of this outweighed the paralyzing fear of being around people again, especially with the Mark. Even without the Mark, Cain relapsed into a violent killing machine.

Dean was going to stay. Much as he wanted to be selfish, that anxiety and inevitability of turning into a demon the moment he landed on Earth frightened him to the core.

**Sol 103,109**

Castiel was away serving Heaven as usual when something dreadful overwhelmed Dean. The feeling of _kill, kill, kill_ flooded his system and he knew that deep breathing and repeating “you were sick, but now you’re well, and there’s work to do” wasn’t going to do anything to calm him. Standing up from his seat he saw flashes of red and black. The Mark was pressuring him to kill something, and to kill it now to relieve himself of the chaos he was feeling.

Stumbling, Dean couldn’t see straight enough to grab a weapon and instead pushed through his front door and into the woods. The cool night air calmed him just enough to focus on his typical hunting spots. His senses heightened when he heard something a few feet away from him and he saw the small, slow animal grazing. He’d come upon this animal before, and the strangely proportioned body always made him wonder how it could possibly be alive. Searching for something sharp, he came upon a rock with sharp edges and picked it up before charging at the animal.

He jumped the animal, and they rolled over a few times before Dean could make a fatal strike. It was unnecessary, but he kept bludgeoning it even when it went limp underneath him from the first blow. Eventually the insatiable hunger to kill faded away, replaced by a strange sense of shame. There was shame in mercilessly killing an innocent animal and he felt disgusted with himself, the guilt so deep within his bones. He stood up, dropping the stone, and tried to look at the animal even when the darkness of the night hid most of the damage. Perhaps it was better that he couldn’t see it, couldn’t see the cruelty influenced by something so small on his arm.

Dean felt a firm hand on his shoulder gripping him and turning him around. Coming face to face with his angel, he realized that Castiel must have seen all of that – the needless killing and his animosity. He felt even worse and even more like the monster he was trying so desperately to avoid. He didn’t know what Castiel was thinking, or what his own frantic face looked like, but Dean had never hated the Mark more than this particular moment. Castiel’s hand came up to his jaw and gently moved it so that Dean was looking at him. What he wanted was for Castiel to tell him that it was okay, that he understood that it was the Mark doing this and that this was just a bad day. Mostly, he wanted Castiel to close the distance between them – a hug, a kiss, something to distract him. Instead, Dean told him to go, fearing that the want to kill would return, and that he would turn against the only friend he had.

**Sol 103,115**

Like a rollercoaster, the desire to slaughter everything in his path would pique and subside. At the end of it Dean was certain that he made the right decision in staying and telling Castiel to leave. The latter was only temporary and he allowed himself for the first time to express his longing for the angel. Feeling anything but anger and destruction helped fill some sort of void.

Waiting for Cas, he looked up at the stars and the black hole, wondering if they at all changed in the last 282 years. He wondered if the stars looked different on Earth – it would have been the year 7232 if he did the math correctly. Five thousand years was surely enough to change everything on Earth, and Dean wished to know about it.

“Are you alright?” The familiar sound of wings filled his cabin.

“Not really.” He felt hollow, but he couldn’t say that.

“I could have stayed and helped you through it.” There was no accusatory undertone from him, and Dean was slightly surprised at that.

He scratched his arm, avoiding meeting Castiel’s eyes, “It was something I had to do myself. I couldn’t risk hurting you. I’ve done it before, Cas. You know I’m a monster.”

It was Dean’s resigned tone that provoked Castiel into turning him around forcibly, being in the same position they were in last night, only this time Castiel was angry, his grip placed firmly around Dean’s arm. “You, Dean Winchester, are nothing but a righteous man. One which I have had the privilege of knowing and saving time again. How dare you believe you are anything but that.”

“I killed my own brother. I am, in all intents and purposes, Cain. It was something you once wanted to cure me of.” Dean was attempting to keep his voice level. “It only gets worse from here.”

“No, it doesn’t. Trying to convince me that you aren’t anything but good is not worth your time, Dean.” Castiel sighed. “One horrible week should not put a dent in your three hundred year life.”

Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t wavering. He knew Castiel was telling the truth, but the darkness clouded his thoughts, turning all of his days into bad ones. It reminded him why he was here – it was punishment. Castiel, though, lessened the grip on Dean’s arm, letting his hand trail over the Mark.

“I bet you don’t remember this, but you said this to me once.” Castiel traced his thumb over the Mark.

“What?”

“I’d rather have you, cursed or not.” Castiel smiled tenderly at his Righteous Man. “And no matter how old you become, or what you become, there is not much in this lifetime that will keep me far away from you.”

Dean immediately embraced him into a crushing hug; one he hoped would speak more words than he could say out loud.

“Please believe me when I say that you never have to do this alone,” he spoke into Dean’s ear.

**Sol 440,910**

Dean rubbed at his right forearm. The Mark had been bothering him all day. Instead of the usual background hum he would usually feel, there would be intervals of sharp, stinging pain, and he wasn’t sure why. It never happened before and he was trying to figure out if it meant something. Was he going to be compelled to kill something? Was he suddenly going to find himself in a murderous rampage? Was his arm going to fall of? Or was it just a sharp, stinging pain that just happened to be in the vicinity of the Mark? he had no clue, and though his first instinct was to avoid it and deal with it later, he relented and prayed for Castiel.

“Hey, Cas? I know you’re busy over on Earth and whatever, but the Mark is kinda hurting my arm and I don’t know if that’s normal?” He started off a little hesitant. “Take your time getting here, it’s not too big of a deal.”

By the time Castiel arrived, Dean had a headache blooming. He was vehemently denying that it was connected, justifying his headache stemming from his relatively new hobby: woodworking. He did spend the last two hours trying to carve some intricate detail on a handle, and that involved a lot of squinting and a sore neck.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Castiel neared him and Dean set down his tools.

He slowly stood up and rubbed his head. “Yeah, bit of a headache.”

Castiel touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead, clearing that pain away. “You mentioned the Mark?”

Dean raised his arm and looked down at it. “I don’t know. It was hurting and then it stopped. Is that … Should I be worried?”

Castiel gently held Dean’s arm and looked at it. The way he examined the Mark made Dean a little anxious, so he focused on Castiel instead. He looked the same as always, with very little deviation in his appearance. The weary eyes were still there, and the ghost of something else that Dean couldn’t quite place lay in his eyes. Any other change, though, and he would notice it but there was nothing, though he preferred the consistency. On one hand, Castiel was a constant, one that he could focus on easily and forget everything, but Castiel also had the opposite effect. Looking at him reminded him of everything they did together. Even when everyone died around them, Castiel always seemed to make it out. He was right – all they had left was each other.

And perhaps, Dean wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I’m not quite certain why the Mark is causing you pain.” Castiel released Dean’s arm and he shook his head. “I can’t stop it either. I have no effect on it. If it persists, or if the pain spreads, I might be able to help with the surrounding skin.”

Listening to him only confirmed Dean’s fears – one, that none of them still understood what was going on, and two, that neither of them could fix it. He just nodded. Castiel took a step back from Dean’s personal space and he could feel the angel’s eyes on him.

“How long have I been gone this time?” He asked.

“Uh...” Dean scratched his head and did some mental math. “68 days? How much time did you spend on Earth? Anything new?”

“I’m not quite sure. I spent most of it in Heaven. We’re no longer interfering in the affairs of the human population. It’s been very … Administrative. A lot of paperwork, so to speak,” Castiel chose his words carefully.

“Weren’t you a leader of a garrison? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, managing all of it?” Dean scoffed.

“I’ve been told my skill set is better suited towards the data side of things.” Even Castiel sounded unsure.

Dean looked at him skeptically. “You really believe that?”

Castiel’s resolve broke down. “No. I think we should be helping the Earth, not observing. They are going through a tumultuous time right now. Massive change is happening and we’re just standing by.”

“What kind of change?”

“About a tenth of the population aren’t human. They are … Hybrids. Human and monster mixed together. The president of the United States is a quarter vampire, though that’s still a secret.”

“Hybrid?” Now this was getting interesting. “Seriously?”

“After the Fifth World War, it decimated a large population of humans, but gave a food source to a lot of monsters. They thrived. It was bound to happen.” Castiel shrugged.

“And people are just accepting that?”

Castiel shook his head. “Not at first. The barriers are just starting to break down and this is why I believe we should help. We’re just idly waiting for everything to sort it out by itself. If we let things go on like this, they’ll be shunned. They need some sort of hope that they aren’t monsters. That they aren’t inherently evil.”

Dean whistled. “This is definitely different from my day.”

“It’s a new world out there. They don’t want to kill the humans since it is now part of their lineage.” Castiel looked him in the eye. “Things change, people change.”

“Maybe you should take charge. Talk to Hannah and get this going. Be the hero.” Dean tried to sound enthusiastic.

Castiel smirked, but the smile dropped quickly, “I was never the hero. That was you.”

“You dragged my ass out of hell. Course you’re the hero.” Dean was, again, sceptical.

“On orders to.”

“Okay, shut up. We’ve had this conversation before. You think you suck. I think I suck.” Dean shook his head. “It’s not productive and we just make ourselves feel bad.”

It was Castiel’s turn to be sceptical.

“Like you said, people change. I’m a wise old man now.” Dean chuckled softly, but realized that he was keeping Castiel from possibly making a change on Earth. “I guess I should let you go, then. Knowing the time distortion thing, maybe by the time you get there, things will be sorted out.”

Castiel smiled back. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go be the hero.” He watched as Castiel disappeared before his eyes.

**Sol 500,031**

Dean fell asleep to the Mark prickling against his skin. He could only compare the feeling to having his arm or leg fall asleep, but it was just the Mark causing that odd sensation. With just a swig (okay, maybe half the bottle) of the new bottle of whiskey that he requested from Death, he was able to calm his nerves enough to sleep. He reasoned that if he went to bed just a tad drunk, it would quell whatever was happening or what was going to happen with the Mark, or it might put an end to the dreams he had been having lately – all about him slaughtering animals and people. He was bound to go on a rampage soon and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

Apparently having a little liquid courage did help stop the nightmares, replacing them with something more intimate. Alcohol mixed in with his dream world gave him a fuzzy and patchy reality, but he was still quite aware of the soft, warm kisses being pressed against his neck and down his back. He couldn’t quite tell who it was, but he closed his eyes and relaxed into it, having been relatively starved of any close, affectionate, physical contact for hundreds of years.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered into his skin. “You’re beautiful.”

Hearing Castiel’s voice, he became acutely aware of the angel’s body pressed up against him. He could feel _everything_. There was a second of wondering if this was a dream and if this was wrong, but it passed quickly when he was turned around and a wet kiss was pressed to his lips. Dean leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Castiel’s tongue explore. His hands found the nape of Castiel's neck and he took that opportunity to pull him even closer so that their chests were pressed up against each other. With a handful of Castiel's hair running through his fingers in one hand and another caressing his angel's body, he let Castiel trail kisses down his neck and torso, and Dean moaned with each touch.

The movements in his dream felt jarred, and he soon found Castiel staring at him, a carnal look of ecstasy on his face. Castiel was on top of him, his face flush as he moved his hips, creating enough friction to catch Dean off guard. With a firm grip he placed his hands on the side of the angel’s hips, strong enough to gain some control and to move him faster. Dean was so close, but he could only focus on how amazing Castiel felt in his hands.

“Oh, fuck.” Dean writhed as waves of pleasure hit him.

It was incredibly overwhelming and intense, and just enough to pull him back into the waking world.

**Sol 500,032**

There was no forgetting a dream like that, even when he woke up to pain running up and down his arm. He was about to call Castiel when he instantly felt the stickiness in his trousers, and decided against any pain relief at that particular moment. Cleaning himself off helped ebb the pain a bit, though Dean was definitely wondering if it was the morning light making the Mark look redder than it usually was. Shaking it off, he made breakfast. Facing the counter he felt the ghostly embrace of someone that wasn’t there – a hand lingering on his waist, a kiss pressed to the back of his neck. He turned and leaned against the counter, looking around with narrow eyes. It could be one of two things: there was a ghost, or the Mark was playing a sick game. He clenched his fist and shut his eyes tightly. He was going crazy. Again.

“500,032. 5. 0. 0. 0. 3. 2. My name is Dean Winchester.” He kept his eyes closed. “You were sick, but now you’re well, and there’s work to do.”

Dean faced the counter again and resumed making his breakfast. He needed a hearty meal today if he wanted to finish his latest project: he was building an intricate tree house about a mile away from where he was. He needed a change of scenery, and after almost 1400 years, he had to say he deserved it. A little while ago, he asked Castiel if he could bring a couple of tools, but what the angel brought back was something out of a science fiction movie.

“What the hell are these?” Dean gingerly held the tools in his hands.

“Tools.” Castiel was confused. “As you requested.”

“Yeah, like a hammer, nails, and a saw.” Dean shook his head.

“Those don’t exist anymore. At least, not in the way you know them. It’s the year 25,000.” Castiel looked at the items he brought. “That’s what they use now.”

“How do I even …” Dean placed the item in his left hand down to examine the one in his right hand. “What is this?”

“It’s a molecular fuser. Use this in the place of a hammer and nails,” Castiel explained. “It will bond certain molecules together to create a strong connection. Press this button to select the material you want to fuse, and then hold it. It will only fuse that material. Press it twice to reset it. Press it three times to un-bond.”

“So it’s like a glue gun. Cool.” Dean picked up the other tool. “What about this?”

Castiel went on to explain each tool to him, and when he was certain he wasn’t going to seriously hurt himself, he left Dean to the construction. Drafting a plan, he thought about practicality more than the actual coolness factor.

Back to the present, Dean had a tough time focusing on the construction – he got very, very close to fusing his hand together. He couldn’t stop thinking about the dream and how unbelievably real and amazing it felt, even if it was all in his head. With every fibre of his being he wished he could have something like that with Castiel. There were moments where he was close, possibly asking the angel if he had feelings or if he wanted something more with their relationship, but it came down to Dean being terrified of the answer, especially knowing that he was going to live forever – there was always a chance Castiel could say no. It was something that could never be unsaid. Simply put, he didn’t want to risk his only friendship left in the entire universe. If sex dreams were the only things he could have, then so be it. One day, maybe, Dean would tell him he loved him.

**Sol 501,009**

Dean was making his way down the ladder of his finished tree house when he heard the fluttering of wings. When he turned around, Castiel’s sullen expression was the first thing he saw.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked as he picked up a few things he threw down from the house.

“I’ve … Sort of … Left Heaven,” Castiel began slowly. “It didn’t quite turn out as planned.”

“What happened?” He gave a concerned look at Castiel, nudging him to walk back to cabin with him.

“It started off well, and it seemed like Hannah and most other angels were on board, sending me on a scouting mission to see what was happening on Earth. I met up with another angel, Ambriel, and we had a very … Enlightening conversation. She said that I’m expendable, and that I do the job and it doesn’t matter to Heaven if I die,” Castiel paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “She said that even through everything, all I did was help. It was you and Sam who saved the day in the end.”

“What?” Dean stopped in his tracks – the conversation went from 0 to 100 in a blink of an eye.

Castiel continued, “Ambriel said it with no malice, and the only way anyone could say anything like that is if they truly believed it. At first, I thought the opinion of one angel didn’t matter to me, but parts of it made sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dean huffed. “You’re important and you’re not expendable.”

“I asked around, Dean. It didn’t help that when I was offered every chance to return to Heaven, to serve under the purpose of God, that I said no. Told them that you were better than whatever plan they had. When I came back I thought that they were welcoming and I thought Hannah was on my side. Guess I was wrong. Every mission they sent me on was because they didn’t expect me to come back. When they didn’t need me in any other capacity anymore, they stuck me doing paperwork.”

“So they just turn their backs on another angel?” Dean was getting riled up with every second passing.

“To them, I’m not an angel. They find me too human.” And even Castiel believed it. “It hurts to be hated by my own kind, but it feels worse that they pretended, that they gave me hope to be able to trust them again.”

“They’re your family!”

“Which is why I had to leave. I understand why they did what they did; I suppose I just wished they were more forthcoming with their intentions. They made me needlessly proud to be doing their bidding.” Castiel sighed. “Maybe I’ll go back to them, maybe not. I guess we’ll see.”

Compared to his relatively calm, if resigned, demeanour, Dean was struggling to keep his fuming to a minimum. He was actually getting support from the Mark, having it fuel his anger for the angels.

“What are you going to do now?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Should I go?”

His eyes snapped towards Castiel and the anger drained from his system. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re looking at me like you’re going to do something terrible,” Castiel honestly replied. “And you usually ask me to leave before you do it, which I still don’t understand why.”

Dean unclenched his fists and let out the breath his didn’t realize he was holding. “I’m sorry. That’s … No, I’m not going to do anything. Sometimes your family just makes me angry.”

They walked in silence for a moment, with Castiel leading a few paces ahead. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat, his pace slow, and his head examining the ground below his feet. An angel without a family, alone on a planet, was a strange sight to see. Dean wondered if Castiel thought he was alone.

“Will you stay?” Dean found himself saying out loud.

Castiel stopped and turned around slowly, nodding at him. “You’re the only family I have left.”

**Sol 876,991**

The years went by quicker and quicker. The gravitational pull didn’t change whatsoever, so time stayed constant between his planet and Earth. The Mark, externally, remained the same, but there would be more and more occasions of random pains. Most recently he dreamt that his arm was cut off similar to what he did to Cain, and the pain was excruciating, and when he woke up he remained tortured by the agony. Castiel had to knock him unconscious.

Castiel also remained unchanging, except for when he had to replace his tie when it snagged on a tree. He mentioned he managed to drown out Angel Radio, but he would sometimes catch whispers of his name intermingled with questions of his location. He made frequent trips back to Earth, and besides the supplies that Dean needed to survive, the angel brought back a few things that made life a little easier.

It was so effortlessly domestic, yet nothing changed about their relationship. There was an unspoken bond between them that didn’t need any exclusivity surrounding it, but Dean still wasn’t ready to broach the L word. When he felt truly safe, comfortable, and certain then perhaps he would say it.

He thought he was ready when Castiel surprised him with a birthday cake and a hug. Only, he choked and just smiled sheepishly at the angel. That night, he beat himself up for not having the guts to say three little words.

That was his life – a pile of good days and a pile of bad days. It was too bad that Dean didn’t know it was going to get much worse from then on out.

**Sol 901,657**

Nearly 2500 years after killing his brother, Dean had forgotten what he looked like. Trying to picture Sam, he couldn’t remember how he sounded or any mannerisms. Sam’s face was a blur in his mind, and that made Dean panic. It was only a couple hundred years ago that he forgot how his parents looked like.

“Cas!” He yelled for Castiel.

Castiel immediately popped up and went to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Knock me out.” Dean was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

He was pacing his living room, his eyes constantly on the box where he kept _the_ photos.

“You can work through this, Dean.” Castiel placed his hands on him, grounding him and giving him something to anchor onto. "You're strong. You can do this. I believe in you."

He focused on Castiel’s voice, Castiel’s eyes, Castiel’s dumb tie, Castiel’s stubble, and the feeling of Castiel’s hands on his shoulders.

“Christ,” Dean spit out through clenched teeth, then took a deep breath. “901,657. 9. 0. 1. 6. 5. 7. You were sick, but now you’re well, and there’s work to do.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped out of Castiel’s personal space. He glimpsed the box once more, deciding it was a good thing to place them out of arm’s reach and in relative safety from water, light, and any other things that could destroy the last gifts he had from Sam.

“What happened? Do you want to talk about it?” Castiel asked him gingerly.

Dean sighed, “I forgot how Sam looked like. I forgot how he sounded. Everything about him is basically gone from my mind.”

He rubbed his face, slumping down onto his well-worn couch.

“Would you like me to help?” Castiel neared him, and Dean immediately thought of what the angel could do.

“Don’t send me back in time, Cas. That’s not gonna help.” He raised his hands at Castiel to stop him from getting any closer.

“I have another idea.” Castiel stopped. “Give me one moment.”

He flew off to Earth. Using his fingers, Dean counted what year Earth would have been in.

“Forty …Five thousand…” Dean worked this out. “Seven hundred?”

That sounded about right to him. He couldn’t even imagine what it was like on Earth in that year. He was constantly curious about things back there. What were the humans like? What were the so-called human/monster hybrids like? Who was dominating the music charts? Was there even music left? How was the bunker? How was the Impala? Questions like that went on and on, and a headache started to form, so instead Dean took a nap to clear his head.

Moments later, Castiel returned.

“You know, I’ll never get use to that.” Dean startled himself awake when he felt another presence in the cabin, and even more so to see Castiel standing over him. “What’s that?”

“A laptop.” Castiel corrected himself. “A sort of laptop. It’s powered through solar energy, so you don’t have to worry about battery life.”

“What’s it for?” Dean handled it carefully – it was like a tablet, only it looked like a windowpane.

Castiel pressed something on the screen and a video came to life. It started off with Castiel’s face shot from a low angle.

“Sam? Could you help me with this?” Castiel, on the camera, walked towards Sam.

Hearing Sam’s name, Dean gasped softly and began to watch intently. The camera shook a bit, but Sam’s face came to full view along with Castiel’s. Dean didn’t expect it, but tears began to form in his eyes. Sam was wearing one of his many plaid shirts that he owned. His hair was still obscenely long and Dean laughed at how much he forgot about how he loved to torture Sam about cutting his hair while Sam was asleep. It was strange to just look at Sam on the screen - it was almost like he didn't recognize him, like he wasn't familiar to him anymore, even though it was his brother.

“You wanna take a selfie?” Sam asked, amused and smiling.

“Well, no, I can’t get the other camera to work,” Castiel explained. “All I see are our faces.”

Sam understood and his hand came up in the camera’s view, then suddenly the camera switched to looking at a table in the bunker.

“Ah, thank you,” Castiel said off-screen. “This button, right?”

Castiel must have pressed it again, for Sam and Castiel’s faces were in the shot.

“Yep.” Sam smiled. “That’s the one.”

The video cut out there and Dean could feel that his face was wet with tears.

“I forgot I had that on my phone since it didn’t seem like anything important. It took me a while to figure out how to transfer the file onto here, especially since my phone is considered ancient in Earth years,” Castiel began to explain. “Does that help?”

“It does,” he softly replied without looking at Cas. “Thanks.”

Dean would end up watching that video on certain occasions when he felt he couldn’t remember his own brother. That laptop lasted for twenty years before breaking, but it was enough to help him recover his own memories of Sam.

**Sol 910,101**

Dean missed that laptop. Besides the video of Sam, it had TV shows from the last 50,000 years on it and he marathoned everything. It gave him wicked headaches that lasted for weeks, but he didn’t want to waste any moment getting his fill of entertainment he’d been deprived of. He even managed to watch reruns of Doctor Sexy.

One show that caught his attention was one that was apparently based off of his and Sam’s life. He watched one episode and called it quits. Not only was it based off of the books but he also found it too surreal to even think about, let alone watch it. Castiel explained that the show was surprisingly controversial, considering it was about killing monsters – being a monster was inherently ingrained in most of the Earth’s population’s DNA. They found Dean and Sam to either be the villains or heroes. Monster/human hybrids used it to explain the horrors of their ancestors and how they should never repeat the past, though some claimed it was all a way to glorify how humans killed first, and asked questions later.

Either way, even after the laptop had broken down years ago, he’d still get painful headaches that left him wondering where they came from, but brushed it off. This particular night was the tipping point, though. As if Dean had been drinking his weight in alcohol, he woke up with a massive hangover, affecting everything from his head to his toes. When he was able to even tolerate standing up, he noticed his vision was blurry and he was seeing double. Eventually, things that should have been in his cabin were vanishing from his sight – he would see his couch one moment, and it was be gone the next. He tried calling out, but either nothing came out or he went deaf. Combined with the headache and loss of hearing or voice, he couldn't rationalize if he was seeing was because of the Mark or not and he began to panic, forgetting his helpful mantra.

"Dean? Dean!" Suddenly Castiel was in his vision but he still couldn’t hear anything properly.

Dean couldn't remember if he had always been there. Castiel's own voice was garbled, and parts of his face blurry and his movement disjointed. Was he real?

Dean pushed him away violently, certain that it wasn't him, even when the loud crash into the table and chairs told him otherwise. Castiel was still on Earth. He abandoned him there after he made the deal with Death. It'd only been a few months after he killed his brother. Right?

Thinking that, his lungs began to seize and breathing became impossible and painful. Dean clutched at his neck and his chest, his eyes wide with terror and the thought of “I’m going to die” screaming in his head. Seeing him trying desperately to breathe forced Castiel's hand, and knowing there was no way that Dean could push him away, he quickly pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

**Sol 910,102**

"Take it slow," Castiel said soothingly. "You had a massive panic attack"

"What?" Dean's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming.

“Please close your eyes and rest,” Castiel instructed.

Dean complied, closing his eyes again and drifted back to sleep.

**Sol 910,104**

The first thing Dean saw when he woke up was a glass of water. He desperately wanted to take a sip, but he had to fight to even get his body to move. When he was finally in a sitting position, he willed his arm to get the cup, groaning the entire time as he felt an ache all over his body. After gulping the water down, he tried recalling what happened and slowly it came back to him. Whatever happened couldn't have been a panic attack – it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Suddenly, his fingers seized and he dropped the cup and it shattered all over the floor. Out of nowhere, Castiel showed up.

“Dean?” He noticed the broken cup on the floor and began cleaning it up. “Are you okay?”

"What's wrong with me?” was Dean’s first question and only response. “Is it the Mark?"

Castiel took a moment and put the broken pieces on the night stand. "Maybe."

"What?" Dean snapped back, and that took a surprising amount of energy.

"I think your body can't reconcile you being alive for this long. It attempts to shut down and die, but the Mark keeps you alive. If you were a demon, this wouldn’t happen."

"Well, that's just peachy." He noticed that Castiel was keeping something from him. "What is it?"

Castiel didn’t answer, only giving him an unmistakable look of pity.

“Cas, please don’t look at me like that.” Dean looked down, ashamed.

“Like what?”

“Like you’d rather be anywhere but here. Like I’m one of your biggest mistakes.” He kept to himself that the look Castiel was giving him was the one he was afraid of receiving if he ever told the angel his true feelings.

“You are far from the truth, Dean.” Castiel shook his head. “Watching you suffer is painful, especially after all you’ve been through.”

"God, you must regret pulling my sorry ass out of hell."

"Never,” Castiel said that with certainty.

He was quiet for a bit, but Castiel never left. “What would my life be if Azazel never fed my brother demon blood? If we weren’t tied to Cain and never vessels for Michael and Lucifer?”

“You would probably be enjoying a peaceful life and spending it with someone you love, possibly having children. Sam would have probably become a lawyer, and your parents would watch on with pride in their eyes,” Castiel said rather wistfully. “And two different brothers would have taken your place as hunters, and one of them would likely be in your spot now.”

He couldn’t imagine having any other life, and yet he wished he did. The only consoling thing about Dean’s situation was that for the most part, he did spend his life in relative peace and thankfully with someone whom he truly, deeply loved.

**Sol 1,700,983**

Nostalgia never used to be Dean’s strong suit, but then again, neither was his penchant for gardening. Eventually he managed to master both. He could predict a seed’s bloom with surprising accuracy, and he could reminisce about the past without feeling any ounce of anxiety. Knowing, _understanding,_ what the Mark could really do on this planet, away from any humans, away from the First Blade, and away from wanting to hunt monsters gave him a safety net that he cherished every single day. There were times, of course, where he felt like he was dying but he dealt with it and moved on. Besides those moments, he found a tranquility he never felt when he was on Earth, even with the background hum of the Mark.

He got bored, of course, and every so often, he’d wonder what was on the other side of the planet. Curiosity got the better of him and he wandered westwards. He got about twenty miles before he hit sand and then a vast expanse of water. He followed the shoreline, sleeping and eating when he could, until he eventually walked the entire way around. He confirmed it with Castiel later that not only was he on an island, but he was on the only continent on the planet – the rest of it was submerged in water

Dean built little homes around his own little island, starting gardens here and there, and creating furniture from the alien trees. He would always come back to his home base – it was his own bunker and it was where he started all those years ago.

It was also the spot where Castiel was teaching him Enochian. Dean needed a new hobby to add to his list of things to master, and he thought that challenging himself to learn a new language was a good one to try out. It was sol 68 into learning the language and he was just starting to get the hang of actually speaking it. His first foray into talking, he made Castiel double over in laughter, and he watched in amusement and a sparkle in his eye as his angel beautifully experienced joy and happiness with him, the cursed man. Castiel taught him basic vocabulary; things like ‘hello, how are you,’ ‘you are an angel,’ and ‘it’s nice outside,’ to name a few.

In the middle of a lesson, the Mark on his arm began to buzz a bit, and though unusual it wasn’t cause for alarm, so he didn’t bother telling Cas and continued on with learning more phrases. As the lesson progressed the buzzing began turning into a vibration, and sharp pains began to shoot through his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just hurting again.” Dean took deep breaths. “Let’s just get back to the lesson.”

Castiel eyed him suspiciously, but Dean just looked away. Suddenly, Castiel began speaking lowly in Enochian, but at a far greater speed than Dean could comprehend. Looking at Castiel, it looked like he had been paralyzed, with his eyes widened to an almost comical size even as he rapidly spoke. Whatever was happening, Dean could not snap him out of it.

“Cas? Cas!” Dean shook him. “What’s wrong?”

The angel got up from the table and crouched on the ground still mumbling in Enochian, but it looked like he was in pain, Castiel’s hands instinctively going up to his ears as if that would tune out or lessen the volume on Angel Radio. Dean was already by his side. When they didn’t help, Castiel moved his hands to Dean’s shoulders, clutching them so hard that he was sure they would leave some mark. He had never seen such a look of absolute terror and elation in the angel’s eyes. It was unsettling to see but impossible to look away. Castiel’s breathing was hard and shaky.

“What’s wrong?” Dean spoke as calmly as possible.

Castiel’s mouth spent a few seconds trying to form words, but nothing audible came out.

“Cas? Tell me.” Dean stepped forward, placing his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“God has returned.”

Even before Dean could respond, the Mark seared a thousand fires on his arm and the pain made him scream until the darkness was all he saw.

**Sol 1,700,983**

Dean blinked his eyes a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light and the figure before him. When the blurriness left, he could see Castiel hovering over him looking the most concerned he’d ever been. He was still in his living room, albeit lying on his couch.

“Dean?” Castiel looked at him worryingly.

“What happened?”

“You collapsed.”

“How long was I out?” Dean rubbed his eyes, still a little woozy.

“A few hours,” Castiel spoke softly and looked away.

“What?”

“The Mark.” Dean looked down at his forearm, the Mark now mutated and grown past what he thought possible. It surrounded his veins, growing into it and making it redder with some purplish and black hues mixed in. “What the fuck!?”

He pushed himself up and on his feet, scrambling to get away from his own arm, knocking a few things over in the process. “What the fuck is that?!”

Castiel put one hand over the Mark to cover it, and then another on Dean’s face, forcing him to look into the blue eyes. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean was breathing rapidly, but still shallow. He used the fireplace as a support. “What is happening? God, Cas, what is happening?”

“Breathe with me.” Castiel took a breath in, and then exhaled.

Dean followed him, even against the fact that every single impulse in his body was telling him to run – the door was only a few feet away. Tears were stinging his eyes as he tried to work past the beginnings of a panic attack. He didn’t know what was worse – thinking he finally had control over the Mark, or not knowing what in God’s name was happening.

“Say your line,” Castiel said. “1,700,983. Say it.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a few breaths, in and out. “1,700,983. 1. 7. 0. 0. 9. 8. 3. My name is Dean Winchester. You were sick …”

“And?”

“You were sick, but now...” he opened his eyes. “I … I don’t believe it anymore.”

“You must.” Castiel sounded calm, but his eyes looked as if he were begging Dean to believe in the mantra he based his sanity on for the last 4658 years.

“I’m sick, Cas. Look at this!” He pulled his arm out of Castiel’s grasp and forced him to look at the Mark.

He almost wished he hadn’t – the look on Castiel’s face was devastating, as if Dean was blaming him for what happened.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Dean sounded calm enough, was calm enough, as long as he didn’t look at his arm, and Castiel’s expression changed.

Castiel deliberated in his head, but made his decision, rationalizing that it wasn’t the worst idea to let him know what was going on. “God is back. That is for certain. The angels were screaming it in my head. They were so overjoyed and horrified and they cheered. They were experiencing emotions they’d never felt before, Dean. And then …”

“And then?” Dean was on the edge of his seat, and his pounding heart was not helping.

“And then we received news that He was opening the Cage. That He was releasing Lucifer and Michael. That He resurrected Gabriel and Raphael. That He’s creating new angels.”

“W-What?”

Castiel reluctantly continued. “And that all angels must submit and be ready for what would happen next.”

Dean couldn’t say anything.

Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled harshly, his calm façade wearing down rapidly. “He’s coming for you, Dean. He’s coming for the Mark. He wants to release the Darkness.”

“WHY?!”

Castiel rubbed his face with his hand. “Apparently, the Darkness is His sister. He wants to apologize for tricking Her and locking Her away in order to create the Universe and all its inhabitants.”

Dean took what seemed like a very long time to process this information. When he did, he snapped.

“This can’t be true. Everything that I’ve done to get to this point was for nothing?” He spit out. “He came back to let the Darkness out anyways?! And for what? To say sorry?! You can’t be serious!”

Castiel was speechless. There simply were no words.

“This is a great fucking joke!” Dean yelled, knocking over a lamp. “This is absolutely perfect!”

Castiel stood there.

“I SACRIFICED A LIFE, A NORMAL DEATH, FOR THIS!? I KILLED SAM TO SAVE HUMANITY FROM MYSELF, FROM THE DARKNESS,” Dean screamed until his voice was hoarse, until it cracked, and until he didn’t realize tears were falling down his cheeks. “AND HE WANTS TO UNLEASH IT ANYWAYS? THE DARKNESS WILL SLAUGHTER EVERYTHING HE EVER MADE.”

“Dean …”

“No.” His voice returned to its normal volume, and Castiel wasn’t sure if this was the time to be afraid. “No. Just, no. He can’t. I won’t let Him.”

“Dean, no one can stop Him. Not even me.” Castiel’s breath shuddered as he spoke. “There is no reasoning with Him. He is almighty.”

Dean tried to think quickly, for he didn’t know when God would be coming for him. “Do you know when He’s coming? Do you know if He knows where I am?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can I run? Can I planet hop from one part of the universe to the other?” Yes, his ideas were bordering on the ridiculous, but self-preservation could only go so far when dealing with an all-powerful being.

Castiel shook his head again. “He’ll find you. Always.”

“Throw me into a black hole, Cas.” Dean was desperate and panic-stricken – God was coming after him.

Castiel shook his head, his voice small. “I could never do that.”

Even Dean knew that plan was doomed to fail the moment he repeated those same words once spoken at a diner – a diner that probably didn’t exist anymore.

“So why hasn’t He come yet?” Dean rubbed at his eyes.

“Building an army to protect Himself,” Castiel surmised. “I’m not sure.”

“So He knows this’ll go badly.” He stopped and looked at Castiel, who managed to confirm it with one look. “That bastard.”

Castiel flinched away from him, but with Dean bad-mouthing God, he assumed that it must have been hard to stray away from the angel programming.

“So what’s going to happen? What is _physically_ going to happen to me?” He asked, nearing the angel.

Castiel thought about it for a moment. “God will remove the Mark, and it may hurt, but it is the aftermath of the removal that I fear.”

Dean didn’t need to guess what was going to happen next. “So this is how I die? Caught in the middle of a showdown between the Darkness and God?”

Castiel solemnly looked down.

“I guess it’s alright. Lived long enough.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see you in Heaven?”

Castiel tried his hardest to give a reassuring look, but it looked like he didn’t expect to make it through this ordeal. He responded reluctantly, “I must go. If any angel tracks me to where you are, they’ll find you faster. He’ll find you faster. I have to be on their side. Under their eyes I still serve God, and if I’m not there, they’ll…”

Dean’s breath shuddered and he could feel his heart sink. He knew it was true and this was the inevitable outcome. He frantically wanted Castiel to stay for the selfish reason of not wanting to be alone, but he couldn’t put the angel in danger, nor could he pit him against his own kind even if they all abandoned Cas. He had to do this alone, and oh God, why did he have to be alone in this. Of all the things he needed, Dean needed time. He wasn't ready for this.

“Dean, I …” Castiel wanted to say something, something important, and if that first ever tear falling down his cheek told Dean anything, it was something that would change their relationship forever.

“No, everything you’re going to say, I know.” Dean immediately embraced him. “I’ve known from the start, so don’t say it now. It’ll just hurt more and I can’t do it. Not like this.”

“You know.”

“Of course I know,” Dean whispered in his ear. “You’re the angel with too much heart, remember?”

He felt the angel bury his face in Dean’s shoulder. He raked his fingers through Cas’ hair and pulled him in tighter. Neither of them wanted to release their hold on each other, but they had to. They were standing mere inches apart, and Castiel was trying his best to hold himself together.

He nodded his head slightly, closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Goodbye, Dean Winchester.”

Dean laid his hand on Castiel’s cheek, his thumb caressing his cheekbone. Dean leaned in and kissed the corner of Cas’ lips. “Goodbye, Castiel.”

Dean wanted to tell him that he loved him and if there was any moment to do so, it would have been now, but he knew by saying those three complicated words he could imagine Castiel doing something stupid like pitting himself against God. He would never forgive himself if Castiel died for him because of three stupid little words. With one last shaky smile he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of wings announce Castiel’s departure. His heart never felt so heavy, and saying goodbye never felt more foreign to him.

There was no sadness. That came and left the moment Castiel said goodbye. What replaced it was pure anger. He immediately succumbed to the Mark, letting the curse fuel his rage, but he did not kill – there was no time for that. It was time to think strategically. If God was coming for him, he needed to be ready. Though he couldn’t say that Castiel was on his side – that none of the angels were on his side – he still had one ally he could call on.

O, Death.

**Sol 1,700,984**

It was a miracle that God didn’t come within the day Dean spent calling for Death.

“Of course I heard.” Death actually rolled his eyes when he explained the situation. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Can you, I don’t know, back me up?” Dean wildly motioned. “You’re Death, after all. Didn’t you say you’d one day reap God? Make it TODAY!”

“That’s not how it works, Dean.” Death shook his head.

“So you want to let the Darkness out, then?” He was starting to get too close and personal with Death.

“Of course not,” Death replied. “Under regular circumstances, the moment the Darkness is released they will fight and it will mean another apocalypse. Perhaps one worse than the one Michael and Lucifer were aiming for.”

Dean thought this through. “Okay, so then we keep the fight here? Away from any humans?”

“That is assuming that God or the Darkness won’t transport you back to Earth.” Death sighed. “Doesn’t the term ‘all-powerful’ mean anything to you?”

“You’re really not helping,” Dean sneered. “How is God even going to get Lucifer to play along?”

Death actually shrugged. “His son will have to listen to Him eventually.”

Dean rubbed his face and paced around his cabin. Death, on the other hand, stood in the middle of the room watching Dean immobile, and this lack of inaction, of movement, irked Dean to no end. God was coming back, for  _God's_ sake, so shouldn't Death be doing something about it? Dean was sure that even the animals had abandoned this spot, favouring either end of the island/continent they were on to avoid being hurt.

“You forget my wording, Dean. Under _regular_ circumstances, there will be death and casualties. This time I have faith in Him,” Death finally said. “That fighting will only be a last resort, and that His angel resurrections were a sign of good faith for his creations, not that He was building an army.”

“And why do you believe that?”

“He’s … Different. Not like how He was all those years ago,” Death tried to choose the right words.

“You’ve seen Him already?”

“Not quite. It’s a very impressionable feeling.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Dean was tired of Death.

“I think you might be surprised.”

“Why do I have a very strong feeling you know what’s going to happen?” He looked at Death closely. “Do you?”

“I have considered various ways this will happen. A likely one would entail in your death and only your death,” Death revealed this information. “But I may be wrong. Only God knows what may happen. I’m not going to interfere with this, Dean, and I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you were hoping for. Your destiny is far greater in the scheme of things.”

Dean stuttered, “M-my destiny?! What kind of bullshit is that?!”

“The kind that matters.” Death gravely smiled. “Know that you and Cain are connected, acting as a certain countdown for God, and holding the Mark together to give Him time.”

“Time for what?”

“I suppose you’ll see.” Death stood up and Dean knew this cryptic conversation was about to be over. “Time’s up.”

**Sol 1,700,986**

God came by Himself two days later.

Dean’s mind boggled seeing God in the so-called flesh, especially when He arrived as Chuck. The thought quickly subsided when he felt the enormous pain coming from his arm. It felt as if something was pushing against it, desperately clawing its way out. From what was happening it made sense the Darkness wanted to be released.

In all honesty, he expected some sort of light show, a giant angel posse, and some towering man draped in white. He definitely did not expect to see Chuck alone in a rumpled white shirt, stubbly jaw, and barefoot.

“I don’t … Why are you wearing Chuck?” He blurted out.

“Hello, Dean,” God responded in Chuck’s usual voice – no booming nature, nothing spectacular, just ordinary Chuck. “I’m not wearing Chuck. He and I are the same.”

“You’re God? Chuck … The alcoholic prophet writer?” Dean raised a brow.

“It’s been a while.” Chuck neared him, with openness that spoke of friendship, rather than intimidation.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “So what do I call you? God? Chuck?”

“Whatever feels comfortable to you.” God, or Chuck, or whatever, smiled warmly at him.

“Nothing about this is comfortable.” He tried to stand his ground, but seeing Chuck simply unnerved him and caught him off guard. “I know what you are planning to do.”

“It’s true.” Chuck looked at the ground, and Dean immediately got defensive. “I do want to apologize to Her. I’ve watched religion tear people apart when that was the opposite of what I wanted. I want to tell Her that She was right after all. That I understand.”

Dean shook his head, disbelieving that God didn’t have faith in Himself.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble She has caused you, and I’m sorry you’ve had to bear this curse for so long.” God looked pointedly at the mutation growing on his arm. “She would have known I was coming.”

He recollected every single time he thought he was going to die from the pain. “Wait, that was you? You caused that?”

“She wanted to come out to face me. Every time I tried to come near there were consequences.”

“Well that’s just great,” He sarcastically spit out at God, the creator of all things. “You know She’s gonna kill you once you let Her out.”

“She won’t.” God smiled sadly. “And She can’t even if She wanted to.”

“So you’re gonna fight on and on for eternity.”

“I will not resort to violence.”

“You know, you really aren’t helping your hippie Jesus stereotype,” Dean mocked. “But I’m still not going to let you.”

The Mark kept banging against his arm, even against his focused control.

“I promise you that nothing will be harmed in this world or the next. You will live free and unbothered until the day you die. My word is law.” God got serious.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I understand.” God took a step towards him and Dean took one backwards. “But I know you. Even though you’ve lived years with it, I know you wish to get rid of the Mark. I know you wish to die a natural and just death. I know you wish to see Sam, your parents, and your friends again. I know you wish to tell Castiel your true feelings. I am giving you a chance at that.”

“At the expense of others?” Dean harshly replied. “You say that you won’t fight, but Her? Every single day I feel like I need to slaughter something and that’s because of Her. This will not end well for anyone.”

God looked at him proudly, and that confused Dean. “I am glad I made you. You are the righteous man I hoped you’d become, but I’m sorry. This has to be done.”

God didn’t even flinch when a lightning bolt shot out of the sky, directly hitting the Mark. The bolt absorbed into Dean’s skin causing it to glow a bright white as it cleansed the area clean. Dean held onto his arm as he felt the painful crackling. Just seconds later it shot back out into the sky pulling the Darkness away from his arm. He felt weak, but kept his stance.

“What did you do?!” Dean yelled.

The sound of rumbling from afar distracted him enough to turn around and see the dome of black smoke and lightning. The Darkness was released. He angrily turned back to look at God, but this time He was inches away.

“Your work here is done.” Chuck smiled softly, pressing his hand to Dean’s forehead to knock him out.

**Sol 1,700,987**

Dean woke up in his bed in his cabin dazed and thirsty. Sitting up slowly, he began to realize what happened and he quickly looked down at his arm. It was gone. It was actually gone.

He blinked a few times and took in his surroundings. In all honesty, he expected the planet to be destroyed with no chance of the cabin still standing. Maybe he was dead and this was his Heaven.

“Uh… Cas?” He tried calling out, but there was no reply.

He pulled the covers off his body and slowly made his way outside his home. He still wasn’t quite sure if he was dead or not, but he noticed something vastly different. He breathed in the air and looked around – it seemed greener, bluer, and all around more vivid. Even the air smelled fresher. He could hear the waterfall better. Standing still and barefoot, he could feel every grain of soil and each blade of grass beneath his feet, better than he ever did.

Looking at the spot where the Mark once lived, he looked at it questionably, wondering if it had dulled every sensation and made him feel cut off to the world. If so, he was damn ecstatic to get rid of it. He was human again. But at what cost?

He walked out to his little spot, letting his hand drag over the bushes and leaves of the trees. When he made his way to the clearing, he stood there speechless and unbelieving of the beauty he missed. Though it wasn’t night yet, he imagined that the stars shone brighter than they ever did – he imagined Castielleon was a brighter blue. Speaking of Castielleon, he wondered where Castiel was. His stomach immediately dropped when he thought about the conversation he had with Castiel and what God said. Sure, God “promised” no one thing would be harmed, but could He really keep something like that? Could the angels?

The sound of something coming from his backyard had him running towards it. In his haste, he found God tending to his garden.

“What the fuck?!” was the only thing Dean could say.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. You’re an amazing gardener, Dean. Joshua would be proud.” God stood up.

He was tempted to charge at God, to punch Him in His smug face even though he knew that was a stupid idea. Even if he could, the overwhelming sensation overload was getting to him and he was sure his swing would miss.

“To answer the questions that are probably developing,” God started, “everything is fine. No one died. Earth is safe and so is your planet.”

“What?” Dean dumbly looked at Him. “That’s it? What happened to your so-called sister?”

“She and I are one.” God smiled. “We have combined. The humans call it yin and yang.”

Dean was rightfully dumbfounded. “What does that even mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” God responded. “Know you are safe from any harm. Know that the promise still stands. We will see you again one day, Dean Winchester, and We look forward to it.”

After that, God disappeared from his eyes without any such clue as to what in the world just happened.

“God!” Dean cried out, but there was no response even after the fifth time.

“He’s not coming back.” Death stood behind him.

Dean, startled at Death’s sudden arrival, took deep breaths to lessen the irritation he was feeling.

“As predicted, no violence occurred and no deaths incurred.” Death sighed. “I suppose it makes my job easier.”

Although confirming that God did not renege on His promise, Dean just walked away from the conversation. He didn’t feel relieved or happy – he felt absolutely nothing. He honestly couldn’t deal with what just happened and in spite of the fact that everything was seemingly okay, all he wanted to do was crawl into his bed and stay there. Death let him. He slept for many hours until his rumbling stomach decided to wake him up.

He didn’t know what to eat – it was kind of strange to think that whatever he was about to eat would be the first thing he would have as an un-cursed man. He wondered if the tastes would be ten-fold, magnified by the lack of the Mark on his arm. These thoughts were psyching himself out and he took so long to decide before he settled on an apple.

It wasn’t the most satisfying meal, but he was right – it was the most flavourful thing he’d ever had. It almost felt like getting through a cold and being able to taste things properly again. He did not like the strange after taste to it and wondered if it was because the tree itself grew in alien soil. His thoughts quickly transitioned into thinking about Earth. With no Mark he could go home.

That though motivated him and Dean frantically began to pack. He didn’t know where Cas was, but he kept that at the back of his mind for later, and thought about what he wanted to bring back. He needed his essentials, the things that kept him alive, and maybe some alien souvenirs. He took _the_ photos out of his keepsake box and stuffed them in his shirt pocket without even looking at it. He was excited to go home after nearly 5000 years on his own and there was no time to lose.

Somehow in the middle of packing a panic attack started to bubble and dangerous thoughts of going back, adjusting and adapting and starting anew all over again began to freak him out. It was the year 86,214. Everything would be different. Was it really a good idea to drop everything – his relatively comfortable life here – for Earth? He dropped what he was holding and went outside for some fresh air. He couldn’t use his mantra anymore. Whatever panic attack he was having wasn’t caused by the Mark – this was all him.

Dean walked to the clearing and sat down, his legs dangling free over the edge, and he listened to the waterfall. He sat there for hours and eventually watched the sunset paint the sky with magnificent shades of red, pink, purple, and orange. The sky eventually turned to black, revealing the millions of stars he spent millennia looking at. He was right - they shone more brilliantly than his eyes could imagine.

“Dean.”

If there was one thing that never changed, it was that deep, gravelly voice, and the way the angel said his name. Dean stood up, his breathing shaky, and turned around. There he was.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean laughed, his grin so wide at first until he began to cry, and Dean didn't care.

“Why are you sad?” Castiel tilted his head.

“These are tears of joy, you idiot.” He embraced his angel in a hug, tightly wrapping his arms around him and taking a giant inhale.

His angel smelled like ozone but also like the forest and the cabin he'd become very acquainted with. To Dean he smelled like home.

Dean released him but their distance to each other didn’t change. He still had one hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Being free of the Mark, he took Castiel’s appearance in and noticed things he never really noticed. His eyes so tired, so wary, but still so Cas and just like the bright blue star that hung just above them. 

“I never did thank you, you know,” he spoke softly, his hand now coming up to Castiel’s jaw with no hesitation.

“For what?” Castiel leaned into the touch.

“For saving my life, and for helping me survive on this planet.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Course it is.” Dean closed the space in between them, allowing their lips to softly touch.

His hands automatically went to Castiel’s waist, pulling him in closer. Castiel responded by kissing back, going so far as to deepen it. The sensation of relief, of this weight tumbling off Dean’s shoulders was unexpected and it was something he didn’t know he was carrying all these years. He knew he repressed so many feelings out of fear should the angel say “no,” but he didn’t realize the weight of this dread had been dragging him down. He rejoiced in the fact that Castiel wanted this as badly as he did. There were no reservations, no goodbyes needed saying, and nothing dangerous to separate them - they were free to be together.

“It took 4600 years to get here,” Dean released, his voice low and soft as he caught his breath. It felt very dreamlike to him, and he was bordering on wanting to pinch himself should he had fallen asleep.

“Better late than never, I suppose.” Castiel touched their foreheads together, smiling gently.

Dean softly laughed again, the tingling in his lips not leaving anytime soon. “Come sit with me.”

He led Castiel to the edge of the cliff and sat him down, their thighs touching as they leaned against each other for support. Just because Dean could, he leaned over and placed another tender kiss to Castiel’s lips. They sat in silence as they both took in the darkened scenery. Somewhere in the middle Castiel reached out for Dean’s hand and entwined their fingers. Dean smiled to himself, holding on tightly.

“So what happened to you?” Dean asked after a while when curiosity got the best of him.

“Nothing. We were told to stay in Heaven no matter what, that we had to resolve our differences or God would not stay. We obliged His order,” He explained. “Lucifer is surprisingly very understanding.”

“Really?” Dean could not believe that.

“It is amazing what God can do with a little forgiveness,” Castiel sighed happily. “I also visited your brother once more when I was in Heaven.”

“Yeah?” He perked up.

“Your brother misses you, dearly.”

“I know. I miss him too.”

Dean looked up at the night sky and watched the black hole. He was lucky that nothing really changed and that by just looking a little ways out, he could spot his Family constellation where the star, Sam, blinked brighter than the rest. That hollow feeling returned again, but instead of forcing it away or ignoring it, he did the one thing he thought he’d never do – he took out the pictures from his shirt pocket and looked at them. Over the years, thanks to Castiel, it grew to more than just the two original pictures he brought with him. They were faded, and that was to be expected, but they still revealed the most precious of memories. He stared at them for a while, his fingers brushing over the picture of his younger brother and his mother.

“Hey, Cas?”

_And one day, when you make you're way back, let these be your guide. They can help you remember, what it was to be good, what it was to love._

Dean rubbed the skin that once held the Mark, relishing the smooth and untainted feeling.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can I ask you for one more favour?” Dean tightened the hold on his love’s hand.

_I’m ready. I remember. Guide me back._

“Of course.”

…

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**Day 1**

“Dean, welcome home.”

 


End file.
